


Star Wars; The Lost City

by A_girl_witha_dragon_tattoo



Category: Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Atlantis: The Lost Empire Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Beta, minor depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_girl_witha_dragon_tattoo/pseuds/A_girl_witha_dragon_tattoo
Summary: In the year  6586 BC, a cataclysmic event wracked the thriving world of Atlantis. Centuries later and driven by a promise he made, Obi-Wan (Ben) Kenobi is determined to finish what his uncle started. But how does one go about finding a lost city when everyone seems content to believe it's a myth?Still haunted by the death of his mother, Anakin Skywalker, is trying to balance his father's rules and expectations with his sisters growing restlessness. With his world dying and way of life in peril, Anakin isn't sure what the best path of Atlantis is. All he can hope is to trust in the Living Force and let it guide him. The threat of outsiders closing in he is forced to take drastic measures to ensure his home survives.I DO NOT OWN Star Wars nor Atlantis: The Lost Empire.Ownership currently falls to Disney for both.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex/Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 58





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome all to this random fic that came to my mind after rewatching Atlantis: The Lost Empire. This is my first time posting on AO3 and I hope y'all enjoy!

**Prologue**

_Atlantis, 6586 BC_

_“... in a single day and night of misfortune the island of Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the sea.”_

_~ Plato, 360 BC_

He saw the future. One of war he so fervently fought against. But in his haste, he failed to recognize the self-fulfilling prophecy. Not until it’s too late anyway. “Shabla haran, gar di’kut. Gar ganar jurkadi mhi an!”- _fucking hell, you fool. You have threatened us all!_ The man in the swoop bike to his left is nearly drowned out by the roar.

Sifo-Dyas simply wanted Atlantis to thrive. To persevere and survive. To continue to be the pinnacle of existence in the world. Many people found his way of thinking barbaric and dangerous, but his brilliance could not be diminished nor could his commitment to seeing it through.

“Vi enteyor rejorhaa’ir Atlantis.”- _we must warn Atlantis._ Another voice bellows against the wind over their open communications.

Sifo-Dyas had pressed on with the support of the King. It took everything in him. His intellectual prowess put to the ultimate test in the creation of, what in his mind, would be Atlantis’s savoir. It isn’t until now he realizes he’s crafted her doom.

“Att du’car!”- _too late!_ The poor soul’s voice is cut off as his speeder is overtaken and claimed by the sea.

Sifo’s ears are still ringing from the force of the blast. He can still feel the heat searing over his skin alighting every nerve on fire. A bomb. Like no weapon they’ve ever had before, harnessing the full power of the Kyber. Fire and water, nature’s natural cleansers, are about to purge the world of his home.

“Ni cuy’ Ni ceta” - _I am sorry._ His last utterance falls on deaf ears as the tsunami engulfs his own speeder.

\----

_Dong. Dong. Dong._ The sound of the warning bells reverberates in his ears as people around him scurry and scream in a mad dash. “Ve’ganir at morut’yc!”- _Get to safety!_ A voice blares over the loudspeakers. Red spotlights flash from the sky illuminating the people in a crimson glow before passing on. Just to his left a swoop bike speeder careens through the air before crashing into the stone ground in a flurry of sparks. Anakin whips his head around in the chaos trying to keep eyes on all three of his family members.

The imposing figure of his father isn’t difficult to miss swathed in blue robes and his still glinting headdress. “Ibic ara, ner Mand’alor! Iviin’yc.”- _this way, my King. Quickly._ A guardsman hollers over the din towards Anakin’s father.

Plo Koon still looks regal and calm as ever with a stony expression on his worn features clutching Ahsoka tight in his arms. Her blue eyes are wide and searching clearly unsure as to what is going on around them. As another toll of the bells rings her small hands clasp over her ears and she whispers something in their father’s ear. Tightening his grip around the girl, the King waves his family on urging them to hurry before he turns to follow the guardsman through the throngs of people.

Anakin can’t move. He stares in awestruck horror at the mad dash of his people. A wild-eyed man runs right over him sending him stumbling onto his hands and knees. They’ll be bruised tomorrow for sure, if there is a tomorrow.

Glancing down he notes the stinging burn where his skin split open and blood seeps through his pant leg in a dark marron. “Olaror bat, ner adiik.”- _come one, my child._ His mother grasps his arms and begins to drag Anakin along the path behind his father. Clutching her hand back as tight as he can Anakin does his best to keep up with his mother’s swift stride. 

Never in his life has he seen his mother run. Shmi Skywalker has always been the epitome of serenity. _“Te Mand’alor draar viinir a lo akaan.”-the King never runs but into battle._ She would scold as he skidded across the stone ground chasing a stripped hesten. _“Cuyir udesla. Bal te adate kelir cuyir pirusti.”-Be calm. And the people will be as well._ There is always a lesson to be learned in his life. 

His short legs cannot keep up with her sudden pace and Anakin stumbles on a crack in the courtyard ground biting his lip as the pain in his knee intensifies. Shmi pulls up short just managing to stop him from sprawling on his stomach with her iron grip around his hand. “Olaror bat, Ani, olaror bat.”- _come on, Ani, come on._ His mother squats down hoisting him to his feet again.

Around them people continue to scream and fumble trying to figure out where they can go to escape. His eyes widen as he locks on the looming shadow growing closer in the distance. On the horizon a steady wall of black rage rushes closer and closer. _Little gods help us._ _Or have they forsaken us completely?_ His mother goes stiff at his side, her hand clenching around his own digging the bronze amulet she carved him resting on his wrist into his skin.

Anakin gasps at the bite of the charm digging in. “Buir, Buir.”- _mother, mother._ He whines trying to tug his arm free. The pair is washed in the crimson light of the emergency beacons, but it doesn’t pass over them like before. The red beam goes still. Anakin peers up into the light as it shifts into a clear, blue as bright as the winter sea ice. He shields his eyes with his free arm trying to see his mother’s face.

The pressure around his arm lessens as his mother stands up in the beam of light. The crystal necklace resting on her chest glows brighter as if drawn to the beam above. He can feel the crystal hum alive with the energy of the Living Force stronger than any conduit he’s felt before. Anakin whirls his head around trying to find his father and sister causing the grey locks on his head to swish and bat against his forehead. 

A few feet away, Plo stops and spins so suddenly he almost bashes Ahsoka into a man dashing past them. His sister has her face buried in the folds of their father’s robes and the shudder of her shoulders tells him she’s crying. Her fear is palpable in the Force though it conveys her own confusion. But it’s the look of sheer terror on his father’s face that brings Anakin up short. His brown wide-eyed gaze is locked on their mother. Fear, but more a sad dread directed right towards her nearly flattens him like a punch to the gut.

Anakin glances up at his mother as the beams of blue light intensify around them. The air stifles, contracting in on itself before it pulses out like a deep exhale. Shmi’s ornate blue dress and dark navy cloak flutter out around her as she is lifted off the ground. He can feel the familiar warmth of the Living Force surround him, hug him, buzzing with energy. It fades away as she’s lifted farther and farther into the air.

Her hand slips out of his, tugging the bracelet with the carved amulet with her. Anakin grasps at the tendrils of the cord trying desperately to cling to it, the only thing he has of his mother as a sinking feeling that he’s about to lose all of her settles in his gut. “Buir!”- _mother!_ He shouts it over and over again trying to grab onto any part of her form. But she’s simply lifted higher into the air, out of his grasp and into a bright white abyss above.

His father is around him tugging his head into his broad chest beside his sister. “Ani, gebbar gar sur’haai.”- _Ani, close your eyes._ Anakin tucks his head against Ahsoka’s as she bawls and grasps her tiny hands in his long locks.

Anakin has to look. He peers up at the blinding light trying to find his mother as hot tears slide down his cheeks. Taking his sister’s small hand in his own he gives it a tight squeeze and whispers comforts in her ear he doesn’t himself believe.

The low rumble of his father’s deep voice is barely audible as the roar of the wave surges closer to shore. “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.”- _Not gone, merely marching far away._ His father whispers the words and Anakin isn’t sure if it’s for them or himself. Maybe both. He continues to mutter the phrase over and over as the white light becomes too much to look at.

Anakin can only weep for the woman who is the light of his own life, gone out in a flash as they succumb to the darkness of the black wave that crests high over their heads only held back by an invisible dome. He is certain it will collapse in on them at any moment. But it never does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make Mando'a the official language of Atlantis. I apologize in advance if this conflicts with how you understand the language but it fits well in the crossover/mixed universe.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_The Smithsonian Institution. Washington, DC. United States of America, 1919_

The monolithic institution in which he resides always seems to pulse with life and hope of discovery. More of late it’s being marred by the crushing weight of expectation and protocol rather than the electric energy of the grand pursuit of knowledge. A stench of odious high-class pomp wafts over the airy scent of parchment, earth, and curiosity.

Ben straightens his tan button down and adjusts his brown blazer as he shuffles the papers on his desk around again. Charts, maps, images for visual reference all stacked in perfect order that he keeps undoing and redoing in a vain attempt to calm his budding nerves. _“You’re a respected member of the institution. Don’t fret you’ll do great.”_ Padmé’s ever calming voice soothes his mind from their conversation the night previous.

Working to ignore the flutters in his stomach he pulls out his personal journal, a cheap leather book with poor binding, and goes over his notes. In his anal attempt to keep everything in order he’s crafted most of his speech on a few pages. “Gentlemen of the board, I would like to start off by thanking you for allowing me the time to present my proposal.” He mummers the words he’s committed to memory over the last few days.

Running through the entire presentation for the third time in the day he glances at the wall mounted clock on the far side of his small office. To his dismay he still has nearly an hour till the Board will hear his proposal.

His desk telephone blares to life letting out a shrill ring far too loud for such a cramped space. “Cartography and linguistics, Ben Kenobi speaking.” He’s greeted by the harsh tone of Madame Nu, the resident archivist and one of the few females allowed to work within these walls, with yet another complaint about the boiler system. _Show one moment of talent for machines and you’re a bloody mechanic now too._

“Very well.” Ben tries not to sound too exasperated as he hangs up. Straightening his jacket once more he slips out of his office and down the hall to the boiler room. He’s grateful to have his own office even if it’s just to keep him in close proximity to the finicky system. “ _I’m glad you are finally seeing sense and devoting your time fully to better practices.”_ Padmé’s slightly condescending tone still rings in his mind from their dinner last night. He’s certain this is not what she had in mind.

His dear friend may have been trying to reassure him but the guilt-ridden knots in his stomach haven’t lessened. _“Your uncle would not want you to throw your life away like he did his. It’s time to get out of the basement and into the field.”_ She may have been right on that last account.

Perhaps his life would look vastly different if he’d stopped chasing his uncle’s life work years ago. He could be a lead researcher with his own exhibits and lectures. A hall dedicated to him, a nice house, maybe a car. At the very least more than six dollars to his name. But he’d made a promise to his uncle on his death bed to continue his work. It pains Ben to think how far he’s fallen from accomplishing the goal.

Without much thought he beelines to the boiler room and adjusts a few dials then gives the decrepit machine a good thump with a wrench. It hisses to life and he can feel the heat rool off it again. _What does she know about devotion? Being handed her life on a silver platter._ He feels guilty for the thought a moment after it passes but only just.

Padmé Amidala Clovis has, by most accounts, the perfect life. Married to a high-powered banker, one Rush Clovis, she has access to luxuries most only dream of and all she had to do was marry well. Most certainly not for love. _I’d marry Rush if it meant living the way she does._ Ben pauses to actually ponder the thought chuckling to himself. The man is not unattractive with his flowing brown locks and impeccable dress. But he is a pompous, arrogant, ass. Personality does account for something in his book.

Striding back to the dimly lit cave that is his cramped workspace he lets the topic fall away. Picking up the earpiece once more Ben clarifies that his hard work pays off. Madame Nu gives him a clipped response that yes, the heat is on again, but could he please keep it that way. It takes a great deal of self-control not to slam the device on her but to apologize for a machine that frankly just needs replacing- _this is The Smithsonian after all-_ and to promise to keep a closer eye on it. She hangs up with a rather pointed “see to it that you do.”

Rolling his eyes Ben smooths out the wrinkles in his tan button-up and adjusts his belt. Running a hand through his auburn hair he sighs and calms himself once again. The calendar posted on his wall catches his eyes. Today is circled in bold black ink with _presentation at four_ scrawled across but the actual number is what hitches his breath. October 20th, the anniversary of the day his uncle died.

Squeezing his eyes shut doesn’t stop the torrent of images from crashing down again. Qui-Gon on the cot in the hospital wheezing as his lungs finally give out and give in to disease. _“Promise me, you’ll find it. Promise me, please.”_ His dedication to his craft was as commendable as it was shortsighted. Taking deep calming breaths, Ben opens his eyes which land on the sole framed photo that adorns his desk.

Qui-Gon is dressed in his explorers’ garb complete with the odd, pointed helmet Ben loved to wear. It has always been a bit too large for his head, even now, but it holds too many memories to get rid of, so it’s set in a glass display case in his apartment. Staring at the photo he can hear Qui-Gon’s deep melodious laugh in the wide smile and crinkled eyes frozen in time thanks to the framed image.

Ben sinks into his squeaky desk chair and holds the frame for a moment as tears well in his eyes. He thought he’d shed all his tears for the man who raised him but the hole in his heart is still fresh. It’ll likely never go away. Ben presses the heels of his palms into his eyes willing the tears back. Replacing and straightening the photo he turns back to his notes and journal. Flipping carefully through the pages he halts at the copied sections from his uncle’s own research marred with his own notes.

The most recent entry in his hunt surrounds a discovery that nearly floored him but simply garnered him an irate eye roll from Padmé. His uncle was searching for the lost city of Atlantis yes, but that search could only begin, he’d insisted, by finding the Holocron Journal. The lost relic is famed to hold the map to the ancient civilization and for years the clues seemed to point to Ireland. However, the linguist in Ben found the error and to his sole elation the text has been mistranslated for years.

His fingers run over the scrawling lines of his frantic realizations on the page that he’d, in a slightly ale-addled state, scribbled down. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth thinking about how proud and excited his uncle would’ve been. The clap on the back and soft words of encouragement.

The chime of his clock that it’s a quarter to four pull him from his reverie. _This is it._ Closing his journal and collecting his papers he steals himself and makes the climb to the Board chamber. It’s a bit shocking once he reaches above ground levels and daylight pierces through the windows again. It’s shocking to have windows again.

Ben settles into a cushioned chair in the corridor outside the massive oak doors of the Board chamber. Footsteps and hushed conversations echo down the marble hall as people pass by. Most of the scholars ignore him but some cast him various looks. A few catch his eye and smile which he returns, but he finds most shoot him glares laced with jealousy. When the pursuit of knowledge and discovery became such a cutthroat game is beyond him. Perhaps it always has been, but he finds he misses the camaraderie and naivety he found among his peers at University.

The massive doors creak open and a stout man peers at him over half-moon wire spectacles. “The board will see you now.” He’s one of the various Board aids. The man gives a bored once over and waves him in. Ben stands clutching his papers in a death grip as he strides past the man giving off an air of false confidence. If it’s convincing, he has no idea.

Whether it’s to intimidate prospective candidates or simply to inflate their egos Ben isn’t sure but the Board has set up the space so they sit in plush chairs in a raised balcony that looks down on the presentation space.

Stepping up to the podium he takes a quick sip from the fresh glass of water placed in front of him then wheels over the chalkboard and sets his visual aids on it. He gulps as the murmuring above stops and six pairs of eyes bare down on him.

Mr. Windu clears his throat lazily before standing. “Mr. Kenobi it is our understanding you have come before us to present a proposal for a dig in South America.”

Ben takes another quick sip of water. “That’s correct.” He dislikes how small his voice sounds in the large space.

“Proceed.”

Mr. Windu takes his seat once more beside Board President Mr. Yoda. The other members, Misters Tiin, Mundi, Koth, and Krell adjust their focus towards him. Taking a deep breath Ben opens his journal out in front of him. “Gentlemen of the board, I would like to start off by thanking you for allowing me the time to present my proposal.” He meets each of their eyes in turn trying to ignore the sneer on Krell’s face. “Over the past several months I have dedicated my life to…”

_“Promise me, please.”_

Ben’s voice falters for a moment. “Dedicated my life to understanding the geological shifts in…”

_“You uncle wouldn’t want you to throw your life away like this.”_

A thin sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead. “Geological shifts in certain South American regions that lead me to believe we could uncover…”

_“Not Ireland, but Iceland!”_

“Iceland.”

The six men stare down at him with equal measures of confusion and concern. “Iceland?” Mr. Tiin repeats.

Ben shakes his head out taking a larger gulp of water. “Apologies, uncover new fossils.” His blood is pounding in his ears as he meets the Board’s gazes. Mr. Mundi and Tiin nod their heads murmuring to one another. Krell maintains his sneer as Windu clasps his hands in front of him and leans forward on his knees with a quizzical expression on his face. Only Mr. Yoda is unreadable with an inscrutable expression on his face.

Sweat pools under his arms and slides down his back. A silent war ripples through his mind as competing voices fight to make their points. His breathing shallows and it isn’t until Mr. Mundi clears his throat that Ben realizes he hasn’t spoken in over a minute. “I’m sorry Gentlemen, um, I…”

Fumbling for control over the two clear voices he finds himself at crossroads. Ben has fought for this moment, to stand in front of the Board and present a proposal for a true expedition, fully funded, and backed by the Smithsonian. He’s paid his dues. Gained respect aiding other research and conducting small samples here in D.C., but he’s finally earned his shot, his chance.

_Am I about to blow it all?_

_“Throw your life away.”_

_“I promise, uncle. I will find Atlantis.”_

Resolve settles in his stomach loosening the knots the threaten to spill his lunch on the nice carpet floor. The guilt eases and Ben finds he can think in sharp clarity like he’s come up for air after a prolonged dive under water. “Gentlemen, actually I would like to switch gears a little.” He tosses his pre-prepared visual aids on the ground and steps up to the chalkboard.

Ben knows the second he says the name, they’ll dismiss him. He has to take this chance and make it count. “I have come before you to showcase why it is of the upmost importance for the academic community that you fund this exploration into what will be the greatest discovery this institution has ever completed.”

Turning to the chalkboard he quickly scrawls a series of ancient characters across the top. “I have dedicated my life to studying linguistics among other things and thanks to that pursuit I have recently made quite the discovery.” He grabs his journal and frantically flips to a page with an image pasted inside.

He holds up the tiny page knowing full well they can’t even see it, but he has to work with what he’s got. “I know it is difficult to see but this is an image of a Viking shield that I recently had the opportunity to examine while working with Mr. Tiin in his research. He can clarify, the characters on the shield predate any known Viking runic language we’ve studied thus far.”

Laying his journal back on the podium he turns to the characters on the blackboard. “In the original translation of this sentence it was deduced that this word,” he rewrites one word from the phrase on the board and then copies the English translation underneath it. “is Ireland.” A collective groan echoes down from the Board as they begin to realize the track his point is going.

Ben races to cut their protestations off laying it all on the table. “But upon examining the runic characters on the shield and cross referencing them with ancient dialects I have discovered one character was mistranslated meaning the phrase points to the location of the Holocron Journal, the key to discovering the lost city of Atlantis, is in fact in Iceland.” He scribbles the word down and double underlines it turning to face the Board again with a satisfied smile on his face.

The grin droops as he meets the collective scowl of the Board. “Mr. Kenobi.” Mr. Windu’s voice cuts through the space like glass. “Have you come before us to, once again, protest we should provide you resources to go on a wild goose chase to find…”

“If you please, I have more evidence that…”

Mr. Windu raises his voice and holds up a hand to stop his interjection. “Wild goose chase to find a myth?” His brown eyes bear into Ben in an ice-cold stare that sends a shiver down his spine.

“Yes.”

He laughs. Mr. Windu actually laughs. It’s a harsh sound with no mirth. “Well, then I do believe we are done here.” He stands as do the other Board members. Mr. Tiin shakes his head as if sad Ben made this decision while Mr. Krell looks down with a satisfied smirk like this is the best thing to happen to him all day.

Krell is the youngest elected board member to date, mostly due to his family’s generous contributions to the Institute. As such he is still in his prime in terms of hands-on research, expeditions which require extensive resources. Thus, making Krell one of Ben’s closest rivals for funding. It’s clear he hoped Ben would not get the money and it appears Ben handed him his wish on a silver platter.

Only Mr. Yoda remains a moment longer. The older gentlemen rises from his seat but his short stature means his head just grazes over the railing enough for Ben to hold his gaze. It’s a sad gaze marred with wrinkles and frown lines. “Meet me in the corridor please. There is, much to discuss, hmm.”

Ben bows his head to the President as the heavy weight of a stone sinks into the pit of his stomach. His legs feel wobbly and threaten to drag him down to the floor. He collects his things and trudges back out of the chamber.

Standing in the marble corridor he leans against one of the ceiling high pillars absently stroking his beard. The smooth prickle of the hairs is calming as he cycles through a litany of arguments he can present to Mr. Yoda. If he can sway the President to his side the others will certainly follow. He’s pulled from his musing with a hard slam in his shoulder blade sending him stumbling forward a few paces.

Whirling around he finds himself staring up into the sneering eyes of Mr. Krell. He towers over Ben with beady black eyes. Krell is so close he can make out the scraggly hairs of his moustache. “Quite the show you put on Kenobi.” Krell drawls looking smug. “Lucky that you have some job security, through the end of winter that is.” He chuckles. “Someone needs to keep the boiler running after all.” Before Ben can retort Krell strides on his laughter lingering in the space in his wake. Standing now ramrod straight Ben waits with anger rolling just below the surface of his calm exterior until the President hobbles out using an umbrella as a cane.

“Walk with me.”

Ben falls into step with the older man who leads him down the corridor. They traverse much of the building in silence followed simply by their echoing footsteps and the plink of the umbrella on the floor. Ben tries to come up with something to say but every time he opens his mouth Mr. Yoda shoots him a look.

They’ve reached the lower exhibits nearing the exit when Mr. Yoda finally speaks in his somewhat odd cadence. “Your uncle, today is the anniversary of his passing is it not?” Ben hums and nods accenting without words. “Tragic was his death to the academic community and the world. I imagine it makes today a difficult day for you, hmm?”

Ben stutters for a moment. He will not let them diminish his presentation into some kind of mental break or wallowing despair in the wake of his uncle’s passing. “It makes today the perfect day to push for the work he began and demand the proper respect this research deserves.”

Mr. Yoda pauses resting both hands on the crooked end of his upturned umbrella raising a wispy grey eyebrow. “In your eyes perhaps.” He takes a deep breath sighing slowly. “But it does not mean the research merits respect. I am afraid we cannot allow this line of thinking to continue.”

Ben opens his mouth to protest but he’s cut off with a wave of Yoda’s wrinkled hand. “Take the weekend off. Mourn your uncle, clear your mind, then come Monday you can present your original research.” His cloudy green eyes don’t hold the contempt he saw in Windu’s nor the righteous fury in Krell’s. They look at him with pity which makes his own righteous anger flare up. “The proposal, to South America, it’s good research. A solid plan.”

Yoda turns back to the door and leaves Ben standing in the shadows of the massive double doors fuming. When he finally collects himself, he barrels after the man and down the stairs as the older man climbs into a car waiting on the curb. “If you let me back into the chamber Monday, I can only and will only present _my_ proposal for the funding to go to Iceland and find the Holocron Journal.”

Slamming the car door Yoda looks down at him pinching the bridge of his squat nose. “Go home. Clear your head young Mister Kenobi.”

“I will not sacrifice myself. I made a promise I intend to keep.” A swell of confidence floods in him out of nowhere. “If you cannot accept my research perhaps, I shall try elsewhere. Should, come Monday, you decide to reject my proposal again, I must formally resign my position.” His heart hammers in his chest but he holds the green gaze before him.

Yoda doesn’t speak again just regards him disapprovingly before signaling to his driver. The car sputters to life and rolls away down the cobblestone street leaving Ben in the dust. Once the glinting silver bumper has turned the corner and out of view his shoulders slump. All the fight and righteous indignation from before seeping out of him.

_Oh dear, what I have done._

Ben trudges through the streets out of the nicer parts of D.C. and towards a little hole-in-the-wall establishment that serves his favorite beef stew. He even goes as far as allowing himself to indulge in a few ales to wash down his misery. Ben’s resolve may be flickering but deep down he knows he cannot give up this venture. He’s fallen from his promise too long. He just has no idea where to go from here.

By the time he finishes his dinner and climbs the seven flights of stairs to his humble abode, a small flat with a bedroom and a barely working shower, Ben is soaking wet and exhausted. It’s all thanks to the late evening deluge outside that is quickly progressing into quite the storm. Thunder booms over head certainly not helping his budding headache.

He fumbles with his keys in the lock until he finally shoves his door open. Rubbing water out of his eyes and shaking his now unkempt auburn hair he trudges into the living room and tugs on the chain to his single overhead light fixture. Nothing happens.

Glancing around the dark space his eyes fall on a slender frame near his large bay window. “Hello there?” He stares bewildered at the woman before him. The most striking thing about her is her bald head that glints in the flashes of lightening. It works on her in a unique way. A tight black dress hugs her lean frame with a fluffy white shawl draped over her shoulders. She turns to give him a once over with a brown brow arched.

“Mister Kenobi.” The woman drawls in a husky voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story and actual plot now woohoo! I decided to make this take place after World War I not before as it is in the original plot just an FYI.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Kenobi Residence, Washington D.C, United States of America_

“Where did you…how did you get in here?” He demands glancing around the small living space as if more intruders might pop out. Ben folds his arms over his chest trying to make his albeit thin frame more intimidating.

“I came down the chimney.” The woman settles into his leather armchair crossing her legs and flashing a pale, toned thigh through the long slit. “Ho, ho, ho.” Her shawl slips off her shoulder to show off the soft curve of her collarbone. Objectively, she has a striking beauty that stems from her unique appearance and slender but clearly muscular frame. “My name is Asajj Ventress. I am acting on the behest of my employer who has a, proposition, for you. Interested?” She draws out the word proposition in a way that makes his throat dry up. It doesn’t seem like a question as she fixes her icy gaze on him.

“And who, might I ask, is your employer?”

The answer it seems is better left in person as Asajj sidles past him with a not so subtle sway of her hips. She gestures him to follow her with a flick of her fingers and a smirk on her lips. This day has been long, and all Ben wants to do is take a hot shower, drink a large mug of chamomile tea, and curl up in bed. However, with his career in the proverbial toilet and his curiosity winning out, Ben deposits his satchel on the floor in a soaking puddle and grasps his keys before leaving his apartment after her.

Waiting outside his apartment building is the most expensive looking Rolls-Royce limousine he’s ever seen. Decked out in shiny black with chrome accents it’s nothing short of exuberant sleek elegance. He scratches his chin wondering if it has been sitting out there this whole time and he just somehow missed it on his way in. They slip into the leather seats as the driver starts the car and whisks them off the outskirts of the capital city.

Asajj is clearly not one for idle conversation as she sits beside him staring out the front window leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes flick over him briefly in a sideways glance. It’s an analytical stare that seems to note every miniscule detail on his person. Ben resists the urge to straighten his shirt and smooth out his slacks. In comparison to all the luxury around him, present company included, he feels incredibly basic to the point of feeling dull.

He watches the landscape shift from cobblestone city streets and brick buildings to wide acreages of gated estates. In the faint light of lightning flashes, he can see the looming mansions with iron gates, stone pillars, and all variety of colonial architecture. Stroking his beard Ben tries to surmise who this mysterious employer could be. After all, how could someone this wealthy have heard about him?

Their ride turns off onto a long road and sloshes through the rain-soaked street until they slow at a towering wrought iron gate. High above is a matching archway with a bold T etched in the intricate pattern. A long wall of stone flanks the gate and seems to encircle the font of the property.

The driver pulls up under a covered portico and Ben is thankful for the protection from the rain. A butler in a slick black suit opens the door and silently ushers them inside. It’s not a homey house. Rather the looming walls and dim lighting, accompanied with the various artifacts lining the walls, remind him immensely of the museum he works at. _Worked at?_

Wooden and clay masks from various cultures and time periods, glinting swords, axes, tools, and woven tapestries cover almost every inch of exposed wall. At the far end of the foyer is a lift and Ben wonders how massive this place truly is. Part of him expects to find a fully intact dinosaur skeleton around the corner. “Come along Kenobi.” Asajj drawls drawing him from his ogling. Whoever lives here has quite an impressive collection.

The butler leads them into the lift and slides the gate shut selecting a lower level floor. “You will address my employer as Misses Ti or ma’am. Stand unless requested to sit and keep your sentences to the point.” Asajj straightens his collar than pats his cheek as if tending to a helpless child with a seductive smirk playing over her red lips. It’s an unsettling contradiction. The lift stops and she nudges him out with a rough chuckle. “Relax, she doesn’t bite. Often.” Her throaty chuckle follows her back up the lift leaving Ben in a dark living space.

The only light is from the flickering fire in the stone hearth near the center of the room and the faint glow from a large aquarium. One wall is covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves. It might be the greatest private library he’s ever seen, and he traces his fingers delicately over old volumes of literature, history, and poetry.

Every other wall is filled in with photos and more artifacts. One larger golden frame above the hearth catches his attention. His uncle, a little younger than his memory ever pictures him, is dressed in his exploration uniform with his shoulder length hair pulled into its classic ponytail. Beside him is a young woman with a deeper complexion and soft eyes. “Uncle Qui-Gon?” He mumbles scrutinizing the image.

“A fine explorer, and even better man.” A soft accented voice startles him from behind.

Ben whirls around to find himself face to face with the woman from the portrait. She’s aged but carries the same elegance in her posture and striking, kind eyes. They’re a soft grey maybe blue, the dim lighting makes it difficult to discern. She’s sitting on a round ottoman with her legs crossed in front of her as if in deep meditation. Her burgundy dress flows around her and pools near the floor modestly covering her frame but clinging to each curve. “Shaak Ti.” She bows her head slightly towards him. “It is a pleasure to meet you Obi-Wan.” He is momentarily taken aback by the use of his given name. It’s not that he dislikes it, he rather prefers the name, but the nickname is simply easier for people to digest.

“How did you know my uncle?”

Ms. Ti brushes past his momentary lapse in etiquette with ease for which he is grateful for. “I met Qui-Gon while he was attending Georgetown. My father and I were conducting our own research and his studies coincided well with ours.” Ben nods along squelching the initial shock at learning of her academic depths.

Women are not often found in such pursuits, much to Padmé’s own chagrin, but it does not mean they cannot be interested nor far more capable then men. A fact he’s certain would be true of many of his colleagues- _former colleagues? -_ at the Institute.

“We were…close.” A distant look settles in her eyes and he is certain there is a deeper meaning in the word. Qui-Gon only once spoke of a lover in passing, it was always with a bit of sadness but mostly glowing nostalgia. Ben assumes he must be in her presence now.

Glancing back up at the portrait he notes her own practical garb. “Did you travel with him?” He is slightly jealous at the thought of this stranger going on adventures with the man who basically raised him rather than himself. But mostly he’s fascinated to think of the stories she might have.

Her smile is warm, but the grief is obvious in her eyes. “I did. And he spoke of you often.”

“Interesting. He never mentioned you.” Ben mutters under his breath not meaning to sound so bitter.

“He wouldn’t.” Shaak replies getting up and striding past him. “I keep mostly to myself. Being a woman with such interests and resources, anonymity has served me well. I often act through proctors. One such is the woman you met tonight.” She picks up a crystal goblet of red liquid and takes a long sip. _Some associate that one is._ He keeps the thought to himself not wanting to offend her farther with his apparent lack of filter. Perhaps it’s all the ale still in his bloodstream.

Ben’s thoughts flicker back to the conversation in his apartment. “Why am I here?” His hand strokes his beard as he regards the woman and the lavish space around him. It’s clear she got to him through Qui-Gon, but why? What could this woman possibly want and today of all days.

She gestures to table with her goblet. “See for yourself.” Ben hesitantly walks towards the small carved table in question sitting near the fire. The sudden heat warms the chill from his bones he nearly sighs in contentment.

On the table is a wrapped package tied in twine. Scrawled in familiar handwriting is a short note. _For my favorite nephew, Obi-Wan. Yours. Qui-Gon Jinn._ His uncle’s signature is loopy and ornate but all too recognizable. The pang in the back of his throat is one he hasn’t felt since the man passed, three years ago to date. He can’t help but chuckle. As Qui-Gon’s only nephew he was by default the favorite. A constant joke they shared.

He brushes a hand over the writing. Ben finds himself blinking to clear his eyes as flashes of the man’s smiling face come to the forefront of his memory. It’s been a long time since he felt a real connection to the man. His ghost seems to be everywhere today.

“Qui-Gon asked me to give it to you when the time came, should something happen to him.” Ben glances back to see her face contort in pain. Ms. Ti closes her eyes and her grip on the glass visibly tightens. “It was right after his last expedition.” Her voice softens into a whisper. He knows the timeline. Right before his diagnosis.

“When the time came?”

“See for yourself.”

Ben gently tugs at the string and the paper wrapping falls open to reveal a leather-bound book with a golden geometric symbol etched in the center, a square with a circle in the middle. Each corner marked with a gold triangle etched into it. “The Holocron Journal.” He stares astounded at the piece of history in his hands almost scared to breath on it. “Misses. Ti, this is the key to locating the lost island of Atlantis.”

Shaak simply hums as if that’s normal sentence one utters. “Is Atlantis not merely a legend?” Ben scoffs. This was his uncle’s life work in his hands. _How can she brush it off so quickly?_

“I assure you it is not. The proof is within these pages. How to find it, it’s history, it’s language, it’s people.” He opens the book showing her the texts within staring in awe himself.

She laughs light like a tinkling bell. “That looks like nonsense to me.” There’s a playful glint in her eyes but it could just be the reflection of the flickering fire.

“It’s an old dialect. Ancient. One that no longer exists.”

“So, it is useless.”

Ben might be agitated by her lack of understanding, but he feels mostly elated by the holy grail he’s holding. “No, quite the contrary. It’s just more difficult to understand but this language is the foundation of most Latin-based dialects.” He is a linguist after all. Ben could lecture on this for hours.

Ms. Ti settles down in a plush velvet chair by the fire and examines the headlines on a newspaper. “Very likely a forgery then.”

His frustration is starting to mount. “Ma’am, if you truly knew my uncle then you would know he could discern a forgery from the original. I _know._ I would, already have, stake everything that this is the Holocron Journal, and this _will_ lead to Atlantis.”

“Very well.” She turns her now blazing blue gaze in his direction. “What would you like to do with it?”

Ben’s hand strokes his beard as he gazes absently into the fire. He could gather funding, but from where? The museum has made it clear they want no part in his research. But now he has the proof. “This Journal is the proof. I can get funding. On Monday I have a presentation and this” he waves the journal in the air “will prove to them to them once and for all. But… But if the museum will not approve than outside donors.” The cogs in his mind are spinning at full force.

“That will take time.”

“Well I have time.” Ben barks. He takes a deep breath before forging on. “I will take whatever time it requires, even if I have to go door to door begging for funds or row a boat myself to get there. This is my uncle’s _life work.”_ In many ways it was Qui-Gon’s life. “I will do whatever it takes to finish it.” He sighs. “I promised.”

Her face brightens into a warm smile. “Congratulations, Obi-Wan. This is exactly what I wanted to hear.” Ben blinks at her dumbfounded. She chuckles again and stands up stopping below the large portrait of the pair. “I made him a promise as well you know. If he ever found the Journal, I would fund his trip to find Atlantis.” She sighs as her shoulder slump slightly breaking the serene elegance in her stature. “We were going to find Atlantis, together.” Shaak bows her head but with her back to him he can’t read her expression.

Ben never thought anyone else would share his grief over the loss of his uncle. The academic community only held false condolences. “I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders square again as she straightens up. “If I can provide a shred of proof for him. I will do it.” She turns to regard him with a set determination in her eyes that looks too much like his uncle’s own stubborn grit. It got him in trouble often and despite Ben’s youth at the time, he understood how against his superiors he was and the strain it put on him.

Reality comes crashing down on Ben as the finer details of such an undertaking settle in. “This is no easy task ma’am.” Stroking his beard and scrunching his brow he goes over the sheer number of resources it would take to go to South America, let alone a lost civilization. “We need transportation, a team, experts really. Geologists, historians, it could be dangerous. Numerous resources purely for survival and not to mention the necessary equipment to extract proof…” He trails off as the logistics shatter the elation he was feeling moments ago. It’s not as simple as rowing a boat out to sea. Not even close.

Ti waves her hand as if it’s nothing at all. “It’s all taken care of.” _Apparently, it is nothing at all._ Ben blanches fully at a loss for words. “I have a ship, crew, military aid. All the necessary resources and a team of experts.” She slides a picture across the small table the journal was originally resting on.

Ben picks up the picture. He only recognizes two faces. The scowl of Asajj Ventress and the soft smile of his uncle. Ben stares at his face trying to conjure the last memory he has of him looking so vibrant.

It was before Qui-Gon left on an expedition for the museum. He was travelling to Africa with a team of researchers. Ben met him for lunch at the small café Qui-Gon loved because it sold authentic French pastries. Qui-Gon promised before he left that he’d take Ben on the next trip. But he was never able to do so. It seems his uncle might finally be taking him on an adventure. “Why now?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

He’s startled out of his reverie by a hand on his shoulder. Ben turns to face Ms. Ti through bleary eyes. “As you say, it takes time to plan a voyage of this magnitude. I am just sad he could not be here to complete it.”

Ben glances back at the photo in his hands and then up at her. “You’re serious.” The voice in the back of his head keeps telling him the Smithsonian Board members are going to pop out laughing and gawking that he fell for their cruel trick. “I’ve dedicated my whole career to this, and I can’t…It’s just…” For once in his life Ben feels speechless.

“Your uncle had a saying; your focus determines your reality. This is your reality now Obi-Wan. The question is, what will you do with it?”

Ben stares down at the journal in his hands vaguely aware at some point he sat down. “I’ll do it.” He clears his throat to speak clearly. “I’ll do it, I will find Atlantis. For Qui-Gon.” He glances back up unable to suppress a slight grin. “Where did he find it?”

“Iceland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so I decided to post 3 chapters in total (1 is the prologue) to give a better introduction to the story as a whole. That is all for this rapid-fire posting. My goal is to do a minimum of one chapter a week as the story is pretty much fully planned out (though always subject to change as that's how my brain works). I have more chapters written but don't wanna burn out on this story and leave y'all hanging.  
> I like to add my favorite quotes from Star Wars and Atlantis if you've noticed :)  
> Curious to know what you think if the character integrations so far. It's a cross over and interpretation in one. I didn't wanna take the original plot and stuff Star Wars in it but the beginning is relatively the same as the movie.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Shipping Vessel Negotiator, Atlantic Ocean_

Ben stands on the deck of the large steel ship trying to gulp in the sea air. Another blare of the ship’s horn breaks the serene lap of the waves. The past 24 hours are a blur leaving a heavy, unsettling weight hanging over his shoulders. The journal, the ship, the timing. Could it all be too good to be true? He runs his hand over the rough leather face of the Holocron Journal. It’s grounding. Knowing his uncle found it before passing and put his faith in him to find Atlantis helps curb some of the rising nerves. It reminds him he has a purpose.

Shaak Ti assured him his letter of resignation would end up on Mr. Yoda’s desk come Monday, his apartment would be taken care of, and his cat Huxtable would be fed. The last one is less of a priority if he’s honest. Hux could stand to lose weight. The ginger tabby has developed a rather round shape thanks to the rodent problem in his flat.

Tearing his gaze away from the rolling blue sea he checks his pack for the fifth time maybe sixth time since boarding the vessel and shipping off into the unknown. “Socks, underwear, gloves,” Ben mutters to himself checking again he has everything packed. “Journal, graphite, extra graphite, magnifying glass.” He can’t shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. Whether it’s due to forgetting a vital necessity or the sheer terror of venturing into the blank unknown he can’t quite differentiate. Though it might just be seasickness. Ben breathes steadily out his nose as another bout of nausea rolls his stomach threatening to spill his morning roll and tea all over the deck.

Satisfied his bag is properly packed, which wouldn’t matter now anyway, he zips it shut and tries to focus his breathing. His fingers drum the ship rail incessantly. Ben prides himself on being cool under pressure and maintaining a solid exterior but this venture is already testing his bounds. And they’ve barely drifted into international waters.

The speaker above his head screeches to life and he clasps his hands over his ears in shock. “Attention please. Would all personnel please report to the main lunch bay.” The man’s voice is slightly accented and surprisingly soft to be blared over a loudspeaker.

Thinking about delving back inside the stuffy hold of the ship brings another wave of nausea through Ben’s stomach but he has no choice. Gulping in one last breath of fresh air he slings his pack over his shoulder and yanks the steel port open descending into the din of the ship. It’s without a doubt the largest ship he’s ever been on with so many various levels and decks.

Ben holds his breath only breathing through his mouth when he must as the stale air turns rancid with the stench of sweat, seaweed, and dead fish. He prays it won’t be like this the whole time but honestly, he should probably lower his standards of living given the nature of this expedition. Winding down the stairwells and tight hallways he finds himself standing in the doorway to the main launch bay.

People bustle around the space pushing crates, rolling trollies, loading supplies, and guiding vehicles onto loading ramps. In the middle of the massive hanger is a glistening submarine like nothing Ben’s ever seen.

Shaak had briefly mentioned the method of transportation but she’d failed to capture the sheer magnitude. The sleek oblong-shaped behemoth before him shining like a silver bullet never once entered his imagination. Ben stumbles inside the hanger unable to tear his eyes away with no idea where he’s supposed to be going.

As he makes his way towards the submarine, he passes crates open and overflowing with all things from camera equipment to tools to food supplies and a few solid wood crates and barrels with seals stamped outside. A few symbols catch his eye and his stomach does a nervous flip. Clearly marked explosives and guns are being hauled into groups and netted together. _She did say military assistance._ It should probably be reassuring knowing they’re taking precautions, but he’s never been fond of guns.

Ben grunts as he steps back into the body of another man. “Woah, better watch where you’re going.” The jovial voice draws him around and he finds himself face to face with a bald man wearing a large grin. It’s the contents in his hands, however, that draw Ben’s blue eyes. He’s loaded up with more dynamite than Ben can fathom what to do with.

“My apologies.” He stammers not wanting to disrupt or upset a man with such impressive firepower.

The man laughs boisterous and loud. “Eh don’t worry ‘bout it.” He waves Ben off barely freeing a hand to do it while juggling the extremely dangerous cargo. The man dumps his payload not at all carefully into an open container beside him loaded with various other explosive devices. Some of which Ben has no idea their name let alone function. Quite a few look homemade which does little to settle his nerves.

“Never seen guncotton bombs before?”

Ben blinks a few times at the man. “Can’t say that I have.” The man gives him a quick once over.

“You don’t look military. Must be one of them scholarly types huh.”

The man’s bluntness is surprisingly refreshing given the stiff types he’s used to. All polite yet passive-aggressive double speech. “Oh, yes.” Ben extends a hand to him. “Ben Kenobi.”

Unsurprisingly, the man’s hand is strong and rough when he clasps it and gives it a solid shake. “Names Case, but everyone around here calls me Hardcase.” He waggles his dark, bushy eyebrows with a wicked grin. “Bet you can’t guess why.” Before Ben can think to respond the man bursts into another bought of cackles and turns back to his cargo packing it up and wheeling it on.

A soft hand on his shoulder causes him to jump tearing his eyes away from the strange man. “I see you’ve met our resident demolitions expert.” Shaak Ti’s soft tone is full of amusement reflected in the glitter of her eyes.

“He’s… Interesting.” It’s the nicest thing he can think to attribute the wild man.

Shaak hums raising her delicate brows with a subtle grin gracing her lips. “Come, there’s someone you should meet before you depart.”

Ben allows Shaak to lead him through the throng of bodies towards a smaller loading ramp. His eyes take in as much as they can watching people bustle about and load up. Some are dressed in typical sailor attire while others appear more military and still those like him more casual. Her words finally sink in and he turns to face her with a quizzical eyebrow quirked. “You mean we depart?”

Shaak slows shaking her head shooting him an almost apologetic but sad stare. “No, I shall not be joining you.”

“Why not? I thought… given my uncle.”

Her hand rests gently on his shoulder again, a move that is quite comforting in a matronly way. “I am afraid I can no longer whisk off on grand adventures.” Ben must be frowning because she smiles and shakes her head. “I got to go on my adventures with him, this time it’s your turn.”

Ben dips his head in understanding surprised at how disappointed he is. Her calming presence will be sorely missed on the trip. Despite having only just met her, their shared connection to Qui-Gon makes him feel as if he’s losing a small part of that connection to him by proxy. “I understand.”

His attention is shifted to the small loading ramp they’re nearing where the woman, Asajj Ventress, stands no longer in a slinky dress but army green pants and a black turtleneck with an impressive looking machete on one hip and a pistol strapped to the other. It’s a more befitting look given her personality. Beside her is an older man with a schooled expression hidden behind a grey beard that rivals his own. Shaak introduces the man as General Dooku, the hired leader of their grand expedition.

Ben is forced to stare up at the man from his angle on the ramp. Dressed as he’d expect from a General in his full uniform with a similar assortment of weapons strapped to his being, he stares down a long thin nose scrutinizing Ben. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.” His voice lacks the gruffness Ben expects with an accent not far off from his own flowing smooth like an aged whiskey. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I knew your uncle and was sad to hear of his passing.”

Forcing a polite smile on his face he nods his thanks. Something in the man’s eyes, a sharp hunter’s look, unsettles him despite the General’s aged and worn features. Dooku, he decides, is not someone to be underestimated.

Alarm bells begin to blare as red lights flash on the walls. He can barely hear the man’s voice over the speaker counting down to their apparent launch. “Good luck.” Shaak Ti pats his shoulder one last time before descending the ramp. Her soft smile and gentle wave are the last things he sees as the ramp retracts and the door is shut and sealed.

Dooku and Ventress give him little instruction beyond dropping his stuff at his bunk and joining them on the observation deck for his debrief in thirty. When Shaak mentioned the other night, he should present his knowledge to the group he’d spent hours preparing what might be his dream lecture. He glances up only to realize the pair have left him standing in the hall trying to figure out where he is, let alone where the barracks are.

Despite the directional arrows posted at hallway corners, he still takes three wrong turns then descends a level too far ending up in a quiet corridor. The lack of chaotic energy is unsettling as he finds himself alone.

Ben darts around trying to find an identifying marker and realizes he’s standing just outside a room labeled Armory. Underneath in bold red letters, it reads Authorized Personnel Only plastered over a large combination lock not so dissimilar to ones he’s spied on bank vaults. The steel door features a round porthole style window he peers through giving him a limited view of the small space.

He recognizes the dangerous marked crates he saw loaded up upon their departure but what catches his eye is one far wall. Rows of neatly settled guns ranging from small pistols to deadly instruments clearly leftover from the war hang behind padlocked bars of steel. Tilting his head he can just catch the silver glint of knives, machetes, swords, and bayonets in another similar cage along the opposite wall. Half the weapons he has never seen before and the other he knows he’d fail to use correctly. His only claim to fighting prowess is his personal love for fencing. Not very menacing compared to a rifle.

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind him sends Ben in a tailspin. Whirling around he finds himself face to face with a pair of narrowed amber eyes. The man is wearing a frown and clasps his rather well-built tanned arms behind his back. Wearing the same black and green color scheme as many of the other inhabitants of the vessel, the tight fit of the short sleeve shirt leaves little to the imagination. From his attire to his stance to the two firearms strapped to his hips he screams military.

Amber eyes meet blue before raking over him in an analytical sweep, but his expression is unreadable under the stoic mask of his set jaw and high cheekbones. Sweat beads on Ben’s back as he takes an involuntary step back only to bump into the armory door. He squirms as the large tumbler lock digs into his back.

At first glance, Ben assumed the man was bald like the demolitions expert he met before, but on a second glance and under the shining overhead lights he spies a short layer of golden blond fuzz on his head barely a few centimeters long.

It seems the other man is content to make Ben squirm, so he acts first lowering his duffle and smiling with a cheery “hello there.”

“What are you doing down here?” The man’s voice carries a stern weight with its deep rumble. He glances from Ben to the door behind him and back.

Ben scratches at the base of his neck trying to come up with an excuse other than curiosity that now seems childish. “I was looking for the barracks. Took a wrong turn I’m afraid.”

“Obviously.”

Taking a step forward, mostly to get the lock out of his spine, Ben extends his hand “Ben Kenobi.” At first, he doesn’t think the man is going to loosen up enough to shake it, but he gives it a firm and rather hard jerk.

Dropping his grasp, the man folds his arms over his chest in a way that is clearly meant to intimidate. And it’s working quite well if he’s being honest. “Barracks are one floor up, opposite end of the mess.” His biceps muscles flex in their new position giving him a better view of a tattoo poking out under the black sleeve of his shirt. Ben idly wonders what it would feel like to be held in their obvious strength.

He mentally curses himself willing the thoughts away of which have no place here and now. Shoving the thoughts aside but unable to stop the heat he feels rush his face, Ben mumbles thanks before slipping past the man and up the stairs feeling his penetrating stare follow him all the way up.

Ben unconsciously lets out a ragged breath once he crests the last step. Taking a right, away from the sign reading mess, he finally comes across rooms housing rows of bunk beds. Ben shucks his duffle down on an empty bed in the quarters matching the number sequence Ventress gave him and slumps beside it grateful the room is empty.

He leans on his knees running his hands over his face feeling like he might be in way over his head, or rather out of his depth. Pulling the Holocron Journal out of his satchel still slung on his shoulder he grazes the cover trying to find that sense of excitement once more.

A thump in the doorway brings his attention back up as a man with long brown dreadlocks and flowing red coat saunters into the space. “Taking the bottom bunk, I see. Well my friend, then you clearly haven’t heard that top bunks are always more comfortable, better mattress up top and no low hanging ceiling to bump your head on.” He’s a fast talker with a false sounding air of importance to it. “But I guess there is an appeal to the sleeping station you have chosen.” He eyes the bunk Ben is currently seated on with hungry, chocolate eyes.

Ben finds himself drained of social interaction for the day and points at another empty bunk. “There is another lower bunk over there if you are so inclined.” The man laughs loud and forced.

He dumps his things on the bunk Ben points out and turns to give Ben a flourishing bow removing the knit cap off his head as if he just finished a performance on stage. “Hondo Onaka at your service. Though I only service for the right price.” He wiggles his eyebrows before cackling loudly once more.

Ben can feel the flush rise in his cheeks and ultimately tries to ignore the boisterous man. But it seems Hondo isn’t one to take social cues. “So, what is your story, hmm.” He eyes Ben behind his thick-rimmed glasses. Before he can tell the man it’s really none of his business, Hondo is wrenching open his duffle and pulling things out. “Magnifying glass, graphite, journal, hmm. So, you’re a scholar. Lack of weaponry, scrawny frame.” Ben makes a noise of protest and tries to shove his possessions back into the duffel to no avail. “Maps, ahh. Cartographer, and what is this?” Hondo picks up the Holocron Journal flipping it over in his hands before tossing back into Ben’s lap. “You, my friend, are our resident linguist and so-called Atlantis expert.”

Hondo grins at him clearly pleased with his sleuthing much to Ben’s irritation. “And what exactly are you, _friend._ ” He growls the word. Hondo laughs it off seeming to take pleasure in Ben’s prickly attitude.

“I,” he makes another sweeping gesture at himself. “Am the one and only Hondo Onaka.”

“Yes, you said that.”

“Well what more could you need to know?”

Ben growls in annoyance and pinches the bridge of nose feeling a headache coming on. “Hondo bothering you?” A new voice muses smoothly. He opens his eyes to find an imposing man with cropped black hair standing in the doorway glowering at the man in question. Hondo actually looks at bit sheepish but recovers quickly.

“Bother, how dare you.” Hondo feigns offense. “Well, I guess I will go where my talents are appreciated.” With a flip of his overcoat, he marches out of the room with his nose upturned. The newcomer chuckles lightly and sets his own duffle on the bunk above Hondo’s.

His deep complexion nearly hides the jagged lines of the black tattoo that covers his exposed bicep and crawls under the sleeve of his shirt. The pattern’s meaning is unclear, but it greatly resembles lightning bolts. He digs around in his bag before turning and pulling on a white coat with a medic insignia on it. “Names Kix.”

“Ben Kenobi.”

Kix raises a dark brow rubbing a hand through his short, groomed locks. “Qui-Gon’s nephew?” At the mention of his uncle, he immediately perks up.

“Yes. Did you know him?”

“Was a part of the team that found that with him.” Kix jerks his head at the journal lying on the bed beside Ben. His mind flashes to the picture Shaak showed him and notes the now familiar faces that stick out, the towering frame of the medic behind his uncle one of them. Ben never thought about how many others on this expedition might have known the man, but it makes sense given he started it all. “Quite a guy your uncle. Never knew such a kind soul before.” Kix gives him a warm smile before straightening his coat. “I best report in.” With that Kix strides out of the room leaving Ben alone with his thoughts.

The speaker in the upper corner of the room shrieks to life before the same voice from the ship calls for him on the observation deck _Right. No rest for the weary._ He hopes that speaker never needs to be activated late at night. Tucking the journal into his satchel he makes his way back out of the barracks.

By some miracle, he is able to make it to the far end of the ship with little trouble and spies the open raised platform of the observation deck. Ben stalls on the metal steps leading up as the massive viewport comes into view. Outside the glass is the vast expanse of the sea barely illuminated by the subs own exterior lights.

Keeping his eyes transfixed on the rippling world outside he steps onto the wide deck enclosed by a copper railing and halts as the view widens out revealing the rocky surface of the ocean floor. _How far down are we?_ In his abrupt halt the person ascending the stairs behind him crashes into his back.

“Woah, signal next time buddy.”

“Sorry I seem to be…” Ben trails off as he turns around. At first glance, it’s the same man from outside the armory but upon doing a double-take he notices two key differences. His buzzed hair is black, not blond and the jagged scar trailing from his eye down and curving on his cheek. “Bumping into everyone.”

He isn’t sure if it’s some general cliché that happens to be true or merely true for himself but there’s something about scars that thrills him to his core. Swallowing slowly, he notes the man has the same physique as the man outside the armory, even the same dress, but his darker hazel eyes have a softness the other man’s amber gaze did not.

Ben physically shakes his head to clear it realizing he’s been staring for far too long and is blocking the man’s access to the observation platform. His raised black brow cues him in that the man has noticed as well. Stepping aside he rubs the base of his neck as a flush of rosy heat floods to his cheeks, most likely noticeable in the bright lights of the open space. “I don’t mean to stare; you just look remarkably like someone else I met today.” He squints his eyes trying to decide if it’s some trick of light or not.

Recognition seems to sweep over the man’s face accompanied by an amused smirk. “My face but blond hair, lighter eyes, and a general stony expression on his face?”

Ben chuckles at the apt description of the man outside the armory. “Yes actually.”

“That would be my brother Rex.” _Brothers. Duh._ “Twin to be exact. My name's Cody Fett.” The more expressive twin holds out a hand that Ben grasps and shakes with as much confidence as he can muster.

“Ben Kenobi.”

At the same moment, Asajj Ventress sweeps up the stairs brushing past them with a set scowl on her face. “You’re late, come on.” She snaps at him. He opens his mouth to protest that he was in fact here before her but decides against it. Cody follows him to the center of the observation deck where a large round table sits surrounded by a small group of people he now recognizes as members of the crew who found the Holocron Journal.

Cody stands beside his twin, Rex, whom he greets with a solid grasp of their forearms. The golden-haired twin turns towards him. “Find the barracks I hope.” His tone is drier than the fossils they display at the museum.

“Yes, I managed. Thank you.”

Ben wanders around the deck in awe moving away from the group. As he nears the edge of the railing his eyes widen taking it all in. From the raised platform, he can see out over the main storage hold as people bustle below. Large trucks, jeeps, even a tank with an odd, cone-shaped drill are chained down. The people mill about like ants tending to their hill. It’s a wonder such a massive vessel even floats at all.

“Impressive, isn’t she?” A female voice catches his attention. Turning he spies a young woman looking at him expectantly beside the demolitions expert Hardcase, a name he won’t likely forget, who is leaning much more casually against the platform railing.

Her short hair is curly and piled on top of her head but not in the same deliberate manner which Padmé might do with pins and combs. It’s more haphazard. He doesn’t think she can be that much older than a teenager which is shocking though the bold red lipstick she wears ages her slightly. Perhaps that is the point.

“Very. I’ve never seen a vessel quite like this one.” Ben takes another cursory glance around.

“That’s cause there isn’t one.” She stands straighter and leans into one hip with her arms folded over her chest. “The Silver Angel is one of a kind.”

Hardcase snorts beside her. “That’s what you named the ship?” He starts cackling eyes ablaze with mirth until she gives him a solid punch in the arm. Hardcase rubs the spot looking affronted and sore.

“My ship I get to name it.”

“Yours?” It slips out before Ben can stop the question.

The girl’s cheeks tint with a slight blush. “Well maybe not mine, but as her lead mechanic I know more about her than anyone else. Close enough in my book.” Ben’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead but this time he has the tact to stop his shock from being verbalized.

The girl narrows her brown eyes at him as if daring him to challenge her. He notices the black oils stains around the hem of her blue overalls and white sleeves of her undershirt. Though given her expression he wouldn’t question her even if she were dressed in a ballgown.

“You must be very good then.”

“The best.” A satisfied grin plays on her lips. Striding over she extends a gloved hand. “Trace Martez.” He grasps it and shakes but is interrupted before he can introduce himself.

Dooku steps up to the table clearing his throat drawing the small crowd in. To Ben’s chagrin, Hondo sidles up beside him and clasps a hand on his shoulder. “You’re up, expert.” He whispers to close to Ben’s ear. After a quick introduction of himself by Dooku, the floor is his with all eyes looking at him rather skeptically. It is nothing he isn’t unused to given the topic at hand.

Clearing his throat and pulling the Holocron Journal out he faces the group. “As you all know we are on this expedition in search of the lost city of Atlantis. This journal, which I understand you all took part in the acquisition of, will lead us there.”

As he requested a slide reader has been set up, so he pulls the tin of slides from his satchel that he worked tirelessly to compose the night before. Sliding one in, he projects an image onto a canvas sheet of an old drawing. It’s an eel-like creature with a wide mouth lined with sharp teeth and various spikes along its form all the way down to the split tail. A few of his observers make noises of disgust and shock.

“There are various descriptions of creatures that guard the tunnels to Atlantis.” He clicks to a new image of a smaller eel-like creature covered in scales with a jaw like an anglerfish. “Some such creatures are the Krakana and the Atlantean Eel. Now it’s likely these creatures are no more than warnings to keep outsiders from trying to find the city, but they provide good evidence for finding the cave systems.”

Ben clicks to another slide featuring a crude drawing of a much larger creature. The serpentine animal has two large tentacle-like pincers and six legs. “For example, the Leviathan. The mythical guardian of the gate to Atlantis is likely a depiction of the rock formations that surround the entrance.”

“How do you know they’re not real?” All eyes turn to Hardcase. “What? If you’re so sure Atlantis isn’t a myth, why can’t these beasties be real too?” Trace snorts next to him and rolls her eyes.

“It’s like in ancient Greece where the places were real but the mythological creatures a part of their lore and culture. No different here.” Ben swells a little realizing this is his dream lecture coming to fruition. “Now I’m certain if we take the images and a few more general markers laid out in the text and compare them to the sonar maps of the…” His sentence is cut off as the submarine shudders and the lights flicker. “Seafloor.”

Dooku jumps to action first calmly striding to a telephone system. “Threepio report.”

The soft voice from the speaker system responds. “I am not sure, sir.” Ben turns his attention towards the viewport like many of the others peering out into the blackness of the sea. Movement to the right catches his eye as a black shadow flicks out of view. He slowly moves towards the railing trying to catch another glimpse.

Another shudder shakes the sub more violently followed by an eerie echo. “Threepio.” Dooku’s voice doesn’t change in pitch but the harshness to his tone is enough to make Ben’s skin crawl.

The man on the other end squeaks slightly and stammers. “It could be a number of things, sir.”

Ventress chimes in sounding more bored than nervous. “A pod of whales perhaps.”

“We are too far down. Perhaps an echo of our own vessel coming off the surrounded rock formations.” The man on the phone responds. Ben loses the rest of the conversation as he peers out into the water. Through the ripple, he swears he can see a shadow of movement. It passes into the lights and charges the viewport revealing itself as a long, spined creature not too different from the ones he just displayed pictures of. Several others notice the creature and gasp in shock.

Ventress shouts behind him for someone to prime a torpedo. “Not to worry.” Dooku has materialized beside him way too calm for the situation at hand. Ben wants to scream that this might be a prime time to worry fearing a few more hard hits could shatter the window. All the exterior lights refocus out past the bow of the submarine illuminating much more of the rocky seafloor.

Looking smaller in the bright white light the eel-like creature hovers for a moment as if dazed by the harsh glare. _It explains the shudder but not the noises._ As if rising to answer his thoughts and appearing to break off from the canyon wall itself a colossal creature looms in the shadows. In a flash like the strike of a whip a massive tentacle snaps around the eel and draws it into the hulking jaws of what looks far too much like the drawing still posted on the canvas sheet.

The sub drifts steadily closer and the hard-scaled creature is dappled with spots of their lights giving them a perfect view of it dragging the eel into its mouth in one bite.

“There’s always a bigger fish.” Dooku remarks sounding almost amused.

Ben’s jaw falls open at the blasé comment. Finished with its appetizer as it were, the creature turns towards the sub. “Is now a good time to worry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still mostly introductions but getting towards the action now. Ben has Fett Fever (cause how can you not). The Karkana is a star wars creature and so is the Leviathan, kinda trying to meld that one with the movie version.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Temple of Life, Atlantis_

Taking the stone steps two and three at a time with his long legs he quickly ascends to burst through the large wooden doors and into the throne room. Quiet falls over the lavish space as he strides across the cobbled floor. Only the subtle swish of the various plants fluttering in the wind is heard among the echo of his bare feet on stone. His father regards him with a passive look, but his white brows knit together as he takes in his harried appearance. Squatting beside the ornate gold throne, his sister stands giving him an equally puzzled expression.

Panting from running all the way up here it takes Anakin a moment to catch his breath. “The Leviathan.” He heaves in air. “The Leviathan’s been activated.” The air in the room goes still as his father rises to his feet to meet him at the base of the dais.

He rests a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and searches his face. They’re so close Anakin can see all the worn lines of Plo’s face. Wrinkles that crinkle at the edge of his brown eyes and around his thin mouth. New frown lines that cut across his forehead. “Start from the beginning.”

Anakin dives into his story starting at his usual morning patrol and ending atop The Spire when one of the guards reported a strange signal ping coming in. None of them recognized the Leviathan’s code since it’s not been activated in centuries but after he dug around in the system and cross analyzed the code, he realized what it is. “Only something large and close to the entrance to the tunnels could wake it.”

His father rubs his chin with his hand knitting his brows together as he turns back to the throne. Ahsoka remains passive where she stands but he can see the glimmer in her eyes. Where her blue eyes sparkle like the sea with excitement, his own reflect his trepidation. _Outsiders._ For so long there’s been nothing. _Why now?_

“If there are outsiders, the Leviathan will deter them.” Plo settles back in his chair folding his long slender fingers over his chest. “But check the sentries, we must be prepared for any eventuality.” All the weight and authority of an Alor rings out in his deep tone. Anakin and Ahsoka both face their father and bow before leaving.

Anakin puts a determined weight into his steps while Ahsoka bounds along beside him nearly skipping once they descend the steps of the Temple. “Can you believe it?” Her eyes are wide and full of an eagerness he finds he can’t share.

“No. I can’t.”

She rolls her eyes at his flat tone. Bumping his hip lightly with her own she beams up at him. “Oh, come on Skyguy, where’s your sense of adventure.” _Not out there._ His fingers brush over the scar that never quite faded over his right eye. Ahsoka keeps walking and talking unaware he’s stalled.

Wind whips through the pathway whistling off the stone pillars and canyon wall but in his ears, it’s piercing screams. _No, no, no._ Anakin squeezes his eyes shut but it makes it worse. In his mind’s eye, he’s back in the entrance tunnels. All around him is screaming and running. The tang of blood hangs in the damp air choking his nose and tickling the back of his throat so strong he almost gags. Above the screams he catches his name faint and faraway. _Buir?_ The voice is closer, calling him. Drawing him in. Her voice. “Buir!”

A pair of hands grasp his shoulders jerking his eyes back open. “Anakin.” Ahsoka is staring up at him worrying on her bottom lip. His registers the shivers wracking his body and slowly uncurls his fists now aware of the pain of his nails digging in so hard they nearly broke skin. She doesn’t say anything else just gently squeezes his arm offering a small smile.

Anakin brushes past her as if the moment didn’t happen. “Come on. We’ve got sentries to check.”

Her jovial mood lessens as they approach the edge of the city and the massive stone bridge that connects their island to the tunnels. The main city behind them all he can see for miles around is the cerulean depths of the ocean. Calm today with lapping waves in the light breeze. Only a small stretch of lush jungle is visible on the far side of the bridge at the base of the volcano. He can just spot the tunnel entrance between the dense foliage. Just thinking about the dank din of the caves makes his stomach roll. Anakin feels a little guilty for dampening his sister's mood, but he can’t share her thrill. He might have felt that way once but now the thought of outsiders only brings dread.

In most regards he thankful he’s been able to shelter his sister from some of the harsher realities that befall being the older sibling. Being the heir. But now he worries that the pain is inevitable and perhaps it would’ve been better if she’d experienced it sooner. It’s a dreadfully dreary thought.

Ahsoka slips into the seat of a swoop bike sliding the crystal around her neck into the ignition and twisting until the craft whirs to life hovering over the ground. Anakin follows suit and doesn’t suppress the grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth upon feeling his own bike roar to life. That rush of adrenaline as he hovers over the ground is intoxicating. They don’t get to fly speeders very often anymore. There are simply not enough viable crystals left and the aircraft take a significant drain on the Kyber.

Shooting him a sly grin Ahsoka revs the engine. “Race ya.” Before he can respond she’s rocketing down the bridge and into the carved lava tunnel with her light blue skirt billowing behind her. A plume of dust follows. Anakin chuckles and rockets after her down the cylindrical passage.

As the pair winds deeper into the earth and past the volcano the only light is the blue glow of their bikes’ spotlights. The air around them steadily grows dense and damp the deeper they travel. Anakin smirks at his sister as they near their destination then clicks his speeder up a gear and surges ahead. He can hear her push her own vehicle to match his speed putting the nose of her speeder in line with his. The path steadily narrows and will soon bottleneck enough their speeders can’t fit side by side. Shooting her a taunting glance he can see her white brows knit in concentration. Ahsoka is a damned good pilot, but he’s better.

Keeping his eyes on the chokepoint, he drops back slightly to give him more space and allowing Ahsoka to think she’s beat him. But once he’s got the inch of room he needs he tilts his speeder and lets the natural curve of the cave arc him into the air. Flipping the speeder and surging the throttle he shoots forward to drop down in front of a visibly shocked Ahsoka and charges first into the wide cavern.

Anakin lets out a triumphant whoop as they slow to an eventual stop. Ahsoka stares at him wide-eyed and sputtering. “How did you? Where did you learn?” Anakin chuckles at her floundering. It’s not often his snippy, silver-tongued sister is at a loss for words.

Giving her his best nonchalant shrug, he slides off his powered down speeder. “The student is not yet the master, snips.” His hand comes to rest on the hilt of his lightsaber as he takes in the cavern. The faint glow of the beacon suspended on the ceiling casts the space in an eerie blue glow. Lining the walls are the stone forms of the sentries only visible if you know to look for them. Otherwise, they could almost be odd bends and cracks in the cave.

He clutches his lightsaber and tugs off his Kyber crystal as he slowly approaches the nearest one. Anakin knows they won’t attack so long as their crystals are giving off energy, but he can’t shake the gut-wrenching fear this room still gives him. Ahsoka flickers with nervous energy but he focuses on her familiar bubbling presence. This isn't like last time. It can't be.

Standing in front of one of the stone guardians he gently taps the crystal to its chest. A ripple of blue light fans out across it before snaking over the form like bright blue blood igniting the intricate veins carved over its body. Bits of rock fall away as the sentry steps out of the wall raising its spear then driving it down into the ground to stand at attention. The room comes to life in a hum and washed in the green glow as Ahsoka’s own lightsabers come to life behind him. “Easy.” Anakin glances at her over his shoulder.

She’s struck up her battle stance with her blades held at the ready and only relaxes slightly to his voice. Her blades disengage once more returning them to the dim blue glow of the beacon above, but she doesn’t return them to the belt on her hips. He can’t blame her for being wary but chuckles slightly as her eagerness from before is all but gone.

After tapping the awakened sentry with his crystal once more and watching it return to its original position they move down the rows. Anakin takes one wall with Ahsoka on the other. They work in silence moving quickly. He wants out of this place and is certain his own anxiety is getting to his sister. The last of the stone bodyguards slips back into the rock wall leaving them alone in the quiet echo of the cave. Anakin wonders if his heartbeat is pounding around the entire space or just in his ears.

“Do you really think they’ll make it this far?” Ahsoka’s voice is unusually small despite the way it echoes around the cavern. Her shoulders curl inwards so far from the strong-willed stance she normally carries herself with. “You may not realize it, but I know more than you think about the last time. People talk.”

Anakin sighs and runs a hand through his long equally as white locks. It’s grown past his ears to curl around his neck and nearly settle on his shoulders. His mother’s hair was curly like his. “I don’t know Ahsoka. Probably not. Last time they didn’t go through the Leviathan so.” He shrugs. It’s not as comforting as he’d like it to be, but he won’t lie to his sister and promise something he can’t guarantee. “Come on, let’s get back and we can spar.”

The challenge reignites the fire in her eyes and Ahsoka grins. “You’re on.” They hop back on their speeders and leave the guardian cavern in their wake. Anakin silently prays to the gods that their work is for nothing.

Anakin charges Ahsoka bringing his blue 'saber bearing down on her head but she dives aside deflecting the blow away with her shorter shoto. Sweat trickles down his back underneath the sleeves blue tunic he wears. He can see her own tan complexion glistening with sweat along her brow. As Ashoka spins back to face him again, her long white braids whirl around her. He doesn’t hold back as he presses another attack. Most of the time when they fight Ahsoka starts off on the offensive, but his significant advantage of strength pushes her into defense. He fuels himself letting the pulsing life of the jungle around them flood him and release his emotions into his movements.

Their fight lasts for a few more minutes before he disarms her again wrenching one blade out of her hand then kicking the other across the courtyard to clatter a few feet away. Anakin deactivates his blade returning it to his hip grinning like a loon.

“You’re getting better.” He smirks. “Just not quite there yet.” Anakin gives her a placating if only slightly condescending pat on the shoulder before turning away to get a drink from the stream running behind them.

Ahsoka lets out a throaty mix of a groan and a growl. “I can take down both Barriss and Trilla now in two-on-one combat. They’re _trained_ guards.” Her protestation is accompanied by a pointed cock of her hip and glower.

Splashing cool water over his face and scrubbing away the sweat he playfully rolls his eyes. “Like I said, better.”

“Don’t get too cocky Skyguy. Someday someone will put you in your place. I just hope if it’s not me that I’m there to see it.” She taunts. Anakin chuckles but an uneasy feeling accompanies it. He hopes it's her.

Ahsoka slumps down on a rock by the creek. Her bare toes dig around in the sandy shore near the stream. He wrinkles his nose watching her bury her feet. She turns her gaze to the lush, green forest with faraway glaze. The glassy look in her eyes is enough to tell him somethings bothering her.

Anakin sighs and forces himself to sit down beside her. He doesn’t curl his toes in the sand, rather rests his own bare feet on another rock to avoid the vile stuff. “What’s up?” He bumps her shoulder with his to pull her out of whatever deep thinking she’s wrapped up in. Anakin doesn’t have many memories of his mother, but more than Ahsoka does. Sometimes it’s painful how much she’s grown to look like her.

“Are outsiders really that bad?”

His body goes rigid not expecting the topic but really, he shouldn’t be surprised by her insistence nor her curiosity. Anakin opens his mouth to respond then promptly shuts it. He can’t say yes, they’re all bad. Their teachings dictate that all life is important. The Living Force flows in and around everything connecting it and bringing it together. But also showing how vastly different even two blades of grass can be. He’s often wondered if their current detachment from the larger world at hand is part of the reason their way of life is fading.

Anakin can just barely remember a time before their Fall. Feeling that energy constantly rushing around the city as if it were pulsing with life itself. Kyber crystals didn’t drain of power but rather allowed people a conduit to connect with the Living Force more fully. For a long time, they thrived. Then they abused that power, or so says their father, and brought ruin on themselves. It cost him his mother so how can argue with the man.

But perhaps their detachment has gone too far. Often, he wonders if his father was too rash in wake of the calamity that claimed Shmi’s life. They went from one extreme to the other. If the Force is all about balance how is this any better? He regrets a lot of his actions the last time outsiders tried to enter the city. But more recently he wonders if it was the Force’s way of trying to bring them back to humanity and he ruined it. The pained voice of his mother still haunts him even though he tells himself it couldn’t have been her.

“Can the outside world really be bad?” Her voice draws him back from his own inner philosophical debate. “Not being confined to this place, being free to explore.” Ahsoka gestures around them.

“I think you outgrew the ban not to cross the river a while ago.” His attempt at humor falls flat given the glare she shoots him.

“Atlantis, Anakin. Beyond the boundaries of the tunnels.”

Ahsoka Skywalker has always been curious by nature. It’s a trait he admires in his sister that has led them all over their home and gotten them into trouble more often than not. His own curiosity has been more centered on their way of life. Machines and mechanics. Technology and tactics. Pursuits befitting of the heir he supposes. Ahsoka’s always had more freedom in her future and the longer they’re trapped here the more he sees her as a caged bird desperately trying to fly away. He’s not afraid she can’t fly, rather of what's going to try and shoot her down.

Anakin sighs out a long, labored breath. “In order to preserve our way of life from those who’d seek to exploit it, we must be cautious. Going out into the unknown, unaware and unprepared isn’t safe.” Anakin hates parroting so directly from their father, but he believes it more now than when he was first told it himself.

The only response he gets is a lackluster snort. She’s been told this nearly just as much as he has. Her soft features twist up like she ate bitter muja fruit but she doesn't speak again. He turns his own attention to the forest trying to find something more reassuring to say but his own fears keep bubbling up. What will they do if these outsiders breach the tunnels? What could they want? After an uncomfortable silence, he gives one of her braids a playful tug. “How about lunch? Bet Lola has grilled nuna skewers.” Ahsoka swats his hand aside but cracks a small smile which he’ll count as a win.

“Alright.”

Leaving the courtyard in a more companionable silence he leads them down into the main sector of the city. The stone and wood buildings are alight with torches and cheery warmth floods the streets. They descend into the bustling streets of the marketplace. Stalls of all wares and wafting scents of fresh foods permeate the air. Colorful banners flap in the light breeze. It’s all the noise he likes the most. Can’t get lost in your own head with so much going on around.

Purely on reflex and following the mouthwatering scent of grilled meat and vegetables they make their way to Lola’s grill station for a midday meal. Laughing and tossing food while seated on the dock watching the fisherman work, all the stress of the outsiders seems to fall away. Anakin silently prays that it stays this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buir- mother  
> Alor- derived from Mand'alor in this case to mean King  
> So I am trying to meld some Star Wars world with Atlantis. Kinda seemed fitting with the whole crystal aspect. Big difference is I always thought it was kinda weird the Atlanteans forgot how to read their own language, so that is different. They know how to work their shit here.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Submarine Silver Angel, Atlantic Ocean_

Alarms blare and red lights flash as chaos erupts inside the submarine. “Battle stations,” Ventress shouts from the deck gripping the copper railing and pointing fingers to various sections of the ship. “I want bombers out there yesterday. Torpedoes loaded, let’s move it grunts.” Ben can’t tear his eyes away from the behemoth bearing down on them utterly rooted to his spot.

Rising up on the two larger rear legs the Leviathan treks across the seafloor towards them kicking up the sand and clouding the water. Its two tentacle-appendages shoot out as it draws near before any of the attack vessels make it out. The sub shudders violently as the arms find purchase and the ship is swung in a wide arc towards two pillars of rock.

Moments later the collision sends everyone flying to the ground as the Silver Angel lurches to the side. Ben is sent sprawling across the hard steel floor. Jarring thuds ripple up his arms and spine as he grapples to avoid being flung off the platform.

If not for the gripping fear of imminent death Ben might actually be overjoyed that the Leviathan exits further proving that Atlantis does as well. But as the creature drags their vessel towards it all he can focus on is how painful drowning is supposed to be. Hopefully, he’ll pass out quickly.

A pair of hands are wrapped around his shoulders before he can process what’s happening and dragging him off the ground and away from the viewport. “Move.” Ventress barks in his face. Ben manages to pry himself from her grasp long enough to grab his satchel and the journal from the table before she drags him down the stairs and away from the view.

Chaos is in full swing in the corridors as people rush about shouting over the blaring alarms. It’s not until they descend a few levels that he can even hear the anxious voice of- _Threepio is it? -_ over the speakers. “Abandon ship. To the lifeboats, dear god this is it we’re all doomed.” The man wails. _Ah yes, panic over the loudspeaker, that’ll help._ The speaker crackles before cutting out. Hopefully, someone had enough sense to drag the man away.

Trace barrels past them with the twins on her heels shouting orders to seal the breaches and get as many of the crew to the launch bays. _Breaches? Shit._ He’s not one to use obscenities lightly but the situation certainly calls for it. “Can we help them?” He doesn’t know what he expects but the grim laugh Ventress gives in response isn’t it.

“We need to get off this ship.” She growls. For a moment something akin to fear flashes across her face but it’s quickly replaced by the hard set of her jaw. He nods allowing her to lead him down the corridor again, but his stomach is knotting and twisting as his fight and flight senses battle it out.

Stumbling over the lip of a seam in the hallway Ben struggles to keep up with Ventress. People move in all directions bumping his shoulders and threatening to trample him in their wake. Another shudder wracks the ship sending his shoulder slamming into the steel wall. His head ricochets off alighting his head on fire as spots dance over his vision and he lands on the ground. A booted-foot kicks him in the side of the head as the owner rushes by. For a moment he almost blacks out as his vision swims and pricks of pain spiderweb across his skull. The already tight knots in his gut clench as he struggles to push himself up.

Ben blinks rapidly trying to focus on Ventress as she leans over him, but he can’t quite figure out which one he’s supposed to look at. “Get up.” She hisses grasping his arm and dragging him to his feet. She limps slightly on her right ankle as they continue down the corridor but is clearly unphased by whatever pain she’s feeling. His own adrenaline is spiking in ways he’s never felt making his hands shake and the pain fades faster than it probably should. But he needs to be able to focus.

The pair finally breach a doorway into a large hanger space. Three oblong submarines near identical to the Silver Angel but miniature are being prepped. He recognizes the imposing form of Dooku standing on the ramp of a submarine waving them on. If not for the clench of the man’s jaw he’d never know the esteemed General is panicked at all. Ben tries to focus on running straight but his vision is watery as his blood pounds in his head. 

By some miracle, he makes it up the ramp to collapse on a padded row of seats along the wall. Voices murmur around him but they’re indistinct over the ringing in his ears. _Are the alarms still blaring in here?_ “Look at me.” The voice is distorted as if his head’s been shoved into the water outside.

He’s vaguely aware that his body is righted and buckled into one of the seats properly as the ship jostles. Glancing around he can make out two or three Ventresses walking into the cockpit to take a seat beside Dooku. The ship lurches causing his head to jostle around like a bobblehead. Ben isn’t quite sure his body is fully connected to itself anymore. The feeling accentuated as his stomach flips feeling the world drop from under him as they're submerged outside into the dark ocean. Out of the small porthole, he can see ripples in the murky black depths.

A bright white light is cast over his eyes cutting off his view out the small window. He squints trying to raise his hand to cover from the harsh light but it’s not responding. The heavy weight against it tells him it might be pinned down. “Look at me.” A hand lightly taps his cheek and his vision starts to focus in again.

“Kix?”

The medic is bent over him holding a small flashlight in his large hand. Ben chuckles marveling at the strange disproportionate look of the penlight in his burly hand. He tries to organize his thoughts, but everything’s jumbled _._ Gravity starts tugging hard on his eyelids and they flutter as his head lulls forward. Sleep, perhaps after all this excitement he just needs sleep. Ben idly wonders if the past twenty-four hours are merely a dream and he's going awake in his bed with Hux curled at his feet.

Another slap hits his cheek a bit harsher than the first. “Come on Ben, you gotta stay awake.” Kix’s smooth voice cuts through the ringing and fog in his mind. _Head trauma, concussion maybe?_ The ache in his head when he touches the tender spot on the back of his skull brings his focus back in.

Grumbling he forces his eyes open despite the lead weighing them down. “I think you ought to at least take me to dinner before getting physical.” He slurs his words only partly aware of what he says. He needs to get a grip. Kix offers him two white pills which he gladly takes and swallows them dry praying they work fast to curb the tide of welling pain.

Kix chuckles and stands back up. “He’ll be alright. Just a concussion.” Who the doctor is speaking to Ben can’t tell, so he trains his eyes across the small space and counts the bolts lining the steel wall to stay conscious. “Asajj, I should really take a look at that ankle now.” The medic crosses in front of his view in a blur of white towards the cockpit forcing Ben to start his count again. The thrum in his head is already subsiding but the tug towards sleep is still strong in the back of his mind.

Ben’s concentration is broken once more by body thumping down beside him and a hand clasping his shoulder. “Well sounds like you got quite a bump on the head eh, friend?” _Hondo._ “If you need to stay awake, I shall do my best to regale you with my thrilling tales of adventure.” The enigmatic man waves a hand generally in front of them and Ben groans. He isn’t upset the man survived, but perhaps if he could have done it on another ship?

Hondo is just diving into a story about a job he did in Egypt and the “wonderful dame” he met that sounds completely fabricated and a little like a novel he once read when their small submarine shudders. Ben would be more curious about the fact the man has read a book if not for the ringing. This time he is certain it is an alarm and not in his head.

Kix comes stumbling back out of the cockpit and straps in on the opposite side of Hondo who turns animatedly towards him as if their impending deaths far below the ocean’s surface is nothing at all. Using the moment of distraction Ben slips out of his seat and fumbles his way to the front. Ventress is bent over the controls muttering obscenities while Dooku has a headset pressed to his ear. Faint shouts and screams echo out of the radio. The lines of age carved deep across the man's forehead in concentration. What snags all of Ben's focus is the vision out the viewport.

The Leviathan has the Silver Angel wrapped in its clutches as it tears the ship apart like a stuffed toy. Pieces break off the colossal sub and smash into the transports fleeing the scene. How many lives lost already and they’ve only just departed. A shiver runs down his spine contrary to the stuffy air of their small sub. Ben zeros in on the creature but it’s the darker shadow behind it that catches his gaze. It’s a cave opening. _It’s guarding it._

“There.” He points his finger towards the cave. “That’s the entrance.”

Ventress lets out an annoyed huh and huffs shouting at him to get back in his seat but Dooku spies the cave he’s referencing to. “It’s as you said then, a marker to the entrance.” The corners of his mouth twitch in a satisfied smile that’s barely discernable under the billowing white beard. Ben wishes he could feel as excited as Dooku sounds but he is barely containing his fear for their lives.

Shooting Ben a quick stink eye, Ventress changes their course. “If you’re gonna just stand there, why don’t you make yourself useful.” She growls and tosses her head in the direction of a small console behind her. “How’s your aim, Kenobi?”

He settles into the seat taking in the small, green, circular screen in front of him before it clicks. “It will have to be good I suppose.” He responds wryly. Measurements, math, and distance are all a part of cartography so he’s certain he can be accurate so long as the ache in his head stays dull enough for him to concentrate. Ventress grunts in response before hollering towards the back.

“Kix, Hondo, get off your assess, and load the torpedoes.” A sly grin spreads on her face. “It’s playtime boys.”

Ventress pilots their small ship with ease but no lack of flourish and Ben is beginning to feel the effects of his concussion creep back in. Mostly nausea. He bites the inside of his cheek tasting blood, but it keeps the bile from rising up. Urging all his focus onto understanding the targeting system as the Leviathan pops up as a large yellow dot on his scope.

Dooku barks orders at the other subs over the radio to form up and they begin torpedo runs at the Leviathan. “Aim, mark, sixty degrees,” Ben shouts to the pair in the back. He can hear the crank squeak as the position is locked before their torpedo rockets out across the water leaving a thin slipstream in its wake. It skims the edge of the Leviathan’s leg but does little to deter the beast. It doesn’t seem to bleed or injure. More their hits chip off pieces as if the creature is just made of the rocky seafloor itself. It’s enough distraction for a few cargo haulers to get past and light subs with little attack capabilities. But it’s clear they’re going to have to get bold if they want to make it through.

A rough plan starts to take shape in his mind. “I have an idea.” He hollers.

“I am open to suggestions.” Ventress is starting to sound more strained than cocky.

He points towards the lower legs which move much slower and happen to block their path. “Head right for it then roll left on my count.” Ventress eyes him as if he suddenly sprouted two heads but Dooku seems to get his vision.

“Do it.” The General orders before calling on the remaining ships to form up. Ben tries not to dwell on how many have already been lost. There’ll be time to mourn if they make it out. _When dammit. You promised._

Ventress sets course while Kix and Hondo load another torpedo. They only have two more left so his plan really better work. If it doesn’t, they won’t likely need the spare anyway. “Zero degrees.” He orders. Ben faintly hears Hondo mutter something about giving a man a bit of power and suddenly he thinks he’s the boss.

Timing is everything at this moment. As the Leviathan lowers its leg for another step that will crush their ship, they glide underneath it. “Now.” He bellows. Ventress yanks on the controls rolling them onto their side so the torpedo chamber fires straight up. The projectile shoots out right into the limb and exploding on contact. It breaks apart into chuckles of rubble as if they shot at the canyon wall, not a massive sea creature. It’s not enough to really damage the beast but it knocks it off balance. Ventress swerves to avoid the chunks of rubble pummeling their small vessel. Out of the viewport, he watches in horror as the beast lands on a sub to their right. He squeezes his eyes shut as their screams crackle over the radio before cutting off.

Ben doesn’t release his breath until their sub slows and steadily begins to surface inside a massive underwater cavern. Everyone is silent as they breach the water’s surface and glide towards the rocky land. Guilt and relief vie for control. Ben staggers out of his chair desperate for fresh air. His lungs burn unable to draw in enough and his fingers find his rapid pulse on the soft skin of his neck. In the back of his mind, he’s aware he’s not suffocating but can’t stem the rise of panic. Ben staggers towards the back of the sub as far from the others as he can get before he unloads the contents of his stomach on the steel floor. Bile burns his nose as the acidic stench mixes with the metallic tang of the ship’s interior. He heaves in air before his skyrocketing pulse starts to slow but he can’t stop the shake in his hands.

What remains of the expedition crew from the Silver Angel gathers on the shore. The few large trucks and jeeps that made it off the submarine are unloaded, and gear is taken stock. None of his sub mates’ comment on his momentary panic. In fact, they all seem unable to hold his eyes. Kix finds a candle in the supplies and settles it on a plank of wood while Dooku addresses the group. “We began this mission with two hundred of the finest men and women I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. We all knew this wasn’t going to be an easy task, knew the risks.” Ben can’t help but wonder if he didn’t truly consider the risks beforehand. “We must carry on, so their loss is not in vain. But we will not forget their tragic sacrifice.”

Kix lets the candle float out into the now calm water. The orange glow ripples across the nearly black water lighting the rocky ceiling in a soft glow. Everyone is silent as they watch the flickering light float farther and farther out. People slowly depart to find their stations and load up. Only a little over eighty people remain from the original crew. It’s an astronomical loss he can barely quantify. Were all those people not out here because of him? How many more will he fail before they reach Atlantis and even then, how are they supposed to get out? Ben wants to hurl again but there’s nothing left in him save for the tightly wound knots left in his stomach.

Hardcase brushes past him slamming his shoulder into his own. “Just a myth huh?” The dim candlelight accentuates the burning fire in the man’s eyes. He could set off one of his bombs with the stare alone. A few others shoot him dirty looks and Ben finds himself agreeing with them. He should’ve been more prepared, made them more prepared. Perhaps not so many would’ve been lost had he known more. _“Never venture into new terrain without first learning where you’re stepping.”_ His uncle was always full of advice Ben finds himself needing now. How is he supposed to lead them on knowing he’s so woefully unprepared? Needing an outlet for his own anger he finds himself cursing Shaak for not coming along. She’s a veteran explorer. Or maybe she shouldn’t have found him in the first place.

Ben searches the remaining crew for familiar faces. He spies the Fett twins bruised and battered but alive. Cody catches his gaze and gives him a small nod, but his frown speaks volumes. Rex is holding a rag to the side of his head and it’s steeped in blood. Trace mutters something in Spanish and he doesn’t need to know the language to get the message. His own indecision begins to fluctuate between being angry with himself and angry at them. Yes, perhaps he should have been more prepared, and they would’ve been too. But it’s not like he asked the creature to attack. He scrubs a hand down his face and through his beard though the action is less comforting at the moment. The simple fact remains, they’re all they’ve got right now. Ben will simply have to earn their trust back.

Climbing into the backseat of Dooku’s jeep he dives into the journal. Ben is going to read it from cover to cover. Read it as literal, metaphorical, and any other way he can. With only his satchel left of possessions, he pulls out his personal journal and a stub of graphite to begin his notes. The only thing keeping him going is the promise he made. It’s all he has left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a shorter chapter to wrap up the undersea portion of their voyage. Now the real fun begins!


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this is late sorry!

**Chapter 6**

_Lava tunnels somewhere beneath the Atlantic Ocean_

“Obi!” A large hand clasps Ben on the back nearly sending him face-first into the dirt. “Come help me with the beans.”

Ben rubs at his shoulder as he turns to face the gregarious grin that always seems to split the cook’s face. “Alright.” He tries not to sound so apprehensive. Dexter, or rather Dex as the man insists, is quite the jovial man but there’s something in his near-black eyes that makes Ben’s stomach squirm. As if the man’s seen too much to be so cheerful. But as one of the few people willing to be in his company, well he knows the saying.

Dex stokes the flames under a massive cast-iron Dutch oven. Ben’s stomach rolls thinking about the barely edible beef concoctions the man’s been mixing up for them. With so little resources and few options for foodstuffs on a voyage as such, edible is a metric of nutrition rather than taste. Uncle Qui-Gon used to say he’d force feed himself canned foods and preserved meats for weeks before going on a trip. It always sounded like a joke but now he’s certain the man was being serious.

Prying back the top of a can of beans with a knife, Ben dumps the brown, lumpy sludge into the Dutch oven and begins to stir. “I’m thinking bacon tonight.” Dex claps his meaty hands together and the sound reverberates off the stone walls of the small cavern. The man loves anything with grease and can apparently do anything with grease. It’s a condiment, spice, and main dish.

Dex scrubs at the bushy beard covering his plump face sending flecks of skin, dried bits of food, and dirt fluttering onto his stained apron. “Wonder if we still have any biscuits?” He lumbers off towards the unloaded crates of food. Ben runs his hand absently over his own beard. Thanks to a spoon and pair of rather dull scissors he’s been able to keep it trimmed but all in all personal hygiene is not a high priority.

“Aha.” Dex’s voice booms across the cavern. He strides back over with two burlap sacks in hand. Both of them look rather lumpy, maybe canned vegetables or something relatively fresh he hopes. It’s been nearly two days since the Leviathan attack so what little fresh produce they had, which mostly consisted of a few bags of carrots and crates of apples, is all but gone. “A little starch for the stew,” Dex bellows.

Indeed, the lumpy bags contain a hearty collection of potatoes for their stew, if canned beans, preserved meats, and potatoes can count as a stew. “Wonderful.” Ben sounds more forlorn than excited but it’s hard to stay optimistic when your hundreds of feet underground on a potentially doomed voyage of which you might be the most disliked member of. Though the communications officer, a slight man who insists on going by his full name Philip Peter Pritchard Omir, is up there. He can compete with a six-year-old in the ability to endlessly whine and bemoan. The crew have named him 3PO and happily ignore his protestations against the nickname. But other than that he's, liked is strong but trusted.

“Ah, Mr. Jettster.” _Speak of the devil._ The man has skin paler than a baby’s bottom which is likely a fault of spending his life tethered to a desk. Ben can’t say much more for himself, the academic he is, but he has a small bit of field experience. “The General asked me to get a stock report from you on our food stores.” The air of importance that radiates off of 3PO is stifling enough. But then again in their now significantly smaller, mobile team, a communications officer is less necessary.

“Low.” Dex deadpans. He folds his muscled arms over his chest and stares down the smaller man until 3PO begins to squirm. When the man finally shuffles off Dex breaks out his signature grin and devolves into a bought of cackling. “That man wouldn’t last a second in the Hunter’s Club.” He continues to chuckle to himself as he carries on with his meal prep only stopping to adjust his trousers that seem intent on resting around his ankles. Ben is so lost in thought he’s barely cognizant of the knife slapped into his hand until Dex addresses him again. “Chop the spuds, will ya?”Holding the potatoes over the pot, Ben absently slices chunks into the mix. All his thoughts are currently stuck around who in the world Dexter Jettster is.

The Hunter’s Club has made a name for itself in the press as police work tirelessly to shut down the joint. With prohibition measures moving up the judicial system and illegal gambling rings high on the list of things to abolish the notorious club flashes across the front pages daily. Both the club and its noted proprietor, Cad Bane, have been targets of the political elite and those trying to climb the political ladder in an attempt to claim America is moving into better times. But how in the world does former army cook Dexter Jettster have connections to a club with known mob ties? Or is it all just a front from the man?

Ben finishes off the potatoes and glances around the cavern. Trace’s boots peek out from under one of the jeeps having engine problems. Those who aren’t working are setting up tents and getting gear squared away should they need to move out quickly. He’s surrounded by eighty of the best and brightest, according to Dooku, but he’s a single man in a sea of strangers. If, more like when, things go sideways again who can he trust to have his back? It’s not like Ben really knows any of them. And none of them seem interested in getting to know him.

The slop tastes about as good as it looks. But it’s mushy enough he shovels it into his mouth and swallows without really tasting much then washes it down with water. Using his small gas lantern, Ben eats on autopilot while his focus is locked in on the Holocron Journal. It’s amazing the sheer amount of information hidden in one book. Ben’s read everything from firsthand accounts about the construction of the very tunnels they’re in to details about the Atlantean’s way of life. He just hopes they can find some proof when they reach whatever’s left.

The page he’s on now is detailing the _Yaim be Oyay- Home of Life-_ which sounds like a temple of sorts that rests above most of the _aloriya,_ or head city. Ben assumes it must be the capital of sorts. It’s incredibly detailed in its description of the layout but he’s certain he’s only getting half the picture. The problem with reading a dead language is only parts of it evolved into the languages they utilize today. While he can decipher a lot of the roots and words by going back to other ancient texts, there are words he still has trouble deciphering.

Apparently, the temple is less a religious site and more a political one as far as he can surmise. But it references some sort of crystal. It’s unclear whether they used it for a sort of worship or believed it held a power of sorts, but their way of life seems to center around it. The page ends with one final sentence. _“Te Yaim be Oyay cuyi te clavis at Ilum.”_

Whenever the text references these crystals it seems to connect to something called _Ilum._ But whether it’s a person or a place or maybe the crystals themselves he can’t discern. The top line of the adjacent page is like a complete one-eighty as it starts discussing fishing tactics. _What?_ He flips a few more pages but the trend of more commonplace standards of living continues. Flipping back to the page on the temple a slight tear in the fishing page catches his gaze.

Running his finger over the smooth cut it’s clearly not a tear but a precise incision in the paper. Opening the book flat, he can just see a thin section of paper sticking out from between the two pages. A page has been meticulously cut out of the journal. It’s no accidental rip but who and why? Ben closes his eyes and tries to go over the past two days. The whole trip feels like such a blur but he’s confident the journal has been at his side or in his hands this whole time. So, the page has to have been missing since before Shaak gave him the journal. Did his Uncle cut it out? But if he did why?

A sharp bout of laughter ricochets off the rocky walls. His head snaps up towards the main fire pit where the sound originated. The journal crew, as he’s come to call them, is gathered in a group eating, drinking, and laughing. He watches the firelight dance across their smiling faces warming their complexions. A shiver runs down his spine reminding him of the rapidly lowering temperatures.

Facing his direction is Cody. Even from a distance, the amber glow of the fire highlights the hazel flecks in his eyes making them glow gold like his brother’s. Ben forgets he’s staring until those eyes flick up to catch his. Blue holds gold for a fraction of a second before Ben buries his nose back in the journal though he’s not actually reading anything. He tugs his scratchy, woolen blanket tighter around his shoulders like a brown cloak hoping it’ll blend him into the shadows. When he’s certain the piercing gaze is no longer on him, he steals a quick glance. Ben is once again all but forgotten.

Flipping back to the pages about the tunnels, Ben tries to focus in again but the exhaustion from trekking for days settles in his limbs. The raucous noise from the middle of the cavern grates on his nerves more than he’d care to admit.

Ben forces his eyes onto the page trying to block out everything else. He skims a section about the passage they’re nearing where the tunnels dip deep into the earth. A first-hand account of one of the worker's details how they carved or maybe scored the earth to hollow out parts of the tunnels. None of it is making much sense with half his attention on the voices carrying across the space.

“And then I tell her…” Hondo’s voice grates more than the others. Of all the people, even he has his place among the group.

He grips the edges of the journal. The leather cover groans as his knuckles turn white. One of the words on the page manages to catch his eye. The author has used it multiple times in his description of traversing the tunnels, _werda._ Ben thinks it means something akin to gloom, shadows, or obscurities. In a dark, dank tunnel that seems like the whole area. But the writer sounds scared or maybe haunted by it.

Someone coughs behind him and he jumps on his rock made chair. “Sorry.” Cody doesn’t sound nor look all that sorry for startling him. Especially with a sharp looking machete in his hand. Ben swallows despite the sudden dryness in his throat. “Here.” He thrusts the weapon handle to Ben.

“Um,” Ben stutters.

“The General thought you should be armed.” Cody drops the blade at Ben’s feet. “Think you can use it?”

“Yes, I think I’ll manage,” Ben retorts. He knows he shouldn’t be so short with the man if he has any hope of gaining favor, but he’s tired, sore, and his stomach is sour from dinner. On top of that, a headache is burgeoning behind his eyes from straining to read a dead language while everyone else around him is relaxing from their long trek. He’s not in a civil mood.

Cody cocks an eyebrow but makes no more comments. He leaves Ben with a curt nod before heading back to the group. Ben sighs running a hand through his growing auburn locks. Of everyone, the man has a fair reason to be angry. Rex suffered a head wound from it all which he’s lucky wasn’t worse. The brain is a delicate thing. From watching the pair interact they clearly count on the other being there. It’s just another remind he’s alone out here. No family to go back to or to share this with. Padme is his best friend, another wave of guilt slides through him wondering what she thinks has become of him, but she’s not at all interested in these kinds of things. In fact, she often turns her nose up at most things that delve away from sure-fire facts.

Grabbing the machete off the ground he gives it a few experimental flicks of the wrist. It slices the air in clean whooshing arcs. Ben’s background in fencing is more equipped for longer, leaner blades but the weight and cold steel feel familiar enough in his hand. It’s far better than giving him a gun. He’s liable to shoot himself in the foot with the damn things. Besides, there’s just something romantic about swords that guns lack.

Sliding it through a loop on his belt, Ben collects his things and trudges to his tent. The poorly constructed army green structure sags in the middle and he’s certain if there happened to be wind it’d collapse in on itself in a second. The sleeping bag swallows him up as he tucks inside. Ben’s asleep before his head thumps his thin pillow.

For the past two days the tunnel has been slowly descending but today the decline is much more evident. Rocks slip underneath Ben’s feet as he treks alongside one of the larger trucks. Despite their dwindled numbers, they have to rotate who rides in the vehicles. For the most part, it’s been a fair cycle. Though he regrets never learning to drive so he wouldn’t have to walk quite so often. Perhaps after all this is done, he should take up some form of regular exercise.

The tunnel begins to widen the further down they progress. Ben is still in awe at the magnitude of the cave system down here. While much of it is natural lava tubes from ancient magma flows the evidence of civilization is becoming clearer with more and more etched pillars and murals. Not unlike the mosaics of hieroglyphics reported from parts of Egypt, these displays seem to depict stories of the development of the tunnels and the Atlanteans.

“Hold,” 3PO’s voice is just audible over the truck’s radio beside him. “Hold. I said Hold. Stop!” The man seriously lacks the calm, finality that weighs heavy in the General’s tone. But Ben figures the communication’s officer needs something to do. With creaking breaks the caravan stalls. Ahead Ben can see the space open into a much wider cavern.

One benefit of being on foot is mobility. Ben slips past the line of cars into the wide-open space. They're standing on a ledge of sorts that looks out over a deep chasm. Against his better judgment, Ben peers over the side. His head swims staring down the incalculable pit. Backing up a few paces he nearly bumps into Hardcase as he appraises a large column. Ben’s heart beats rapidly in his chest and he presses his fingers to the pulse on his neck trying to take deep breaths and calm down. Tunnels are fine. Tight spaces are fine. Even the dark doesn’t bother him much. Having an office in the basement the dank, darkness below the earth’s crust is almost familiar. But heights. Ben clenches and unclenches his fist trying to regain control and avoid passing out.

When his breathing finally stops coming out like a panting dog in the mind-summer heat he steals a quick glance around but, as usual, no one is paying him any mind. Ben can’t show weakness in front of this crowd. It will just invite more ridicule. With one last deep breath, he moves towards the group assessing their options. He should help. Perhaps there is another route they can take or a clue in the etchings.

The massive column the demolitions expert is examining captures his attention. Intricate patterns encase the recognizable characters of the Atlantean language. Perhaps the answer lies in the column. Ben pulls a small brush from his satchel and begins sweeping dust out from the crevices to get a better look when a hand grabs his arm and yanks him back.

“I wouldn’t stand too close to that.” Hardcase’s eyes glint even in the low light. He gestures to the base where Ben finally notes the wires and dynamite wrapped around the base of the stone stanchion. He follows the wire as it trails back to a small detonator box with a t-shaped plunger handle. A second detonator sits right beside it with a similar set up wrapping around a second column.

Hardcase takes position behind one plunger while Hondo stands behind the other. “No wait,” Ben calls out but it’s too late.

They depress the plungers in unison. “Boom!” Hardcase grins as the explosives disintegrate the base of the pillars with a deafening boom that rocks the entire ledge. To the man’s credit, he knows what he’s doing as the pillars fall across the chasm forming a bridge wide enough for the trucks. “Well would you look at that. I made a bridge and it only took, oh, ten minutes.” The demolitions expert grins ear to ear as he examines his work. Ben holds in a sigh at the damage committed to valuable historic evidence, but the byproduct is effective. If it holds.

Hondo claps his hands together with a crack almost as loud as the explosives. “Wonderful, simply wonderful.” Laying a hand on Hardcase’s shoulder he grins. “You know my dear mother once said, anything can be solved with clear heads and no short amount of explosives.” He saunters off with a flick of his coat tails cackling to himself. If half the statements about his mother are at all true, it would explain a lot about why Hondo is Hondo.

Dooku barks out orders for any non-essential people to get out of the vehicles in an attempt to lighten their loads. Everyone holds their breath as Ventress drives the first jeep across the bridge. It’s slow going and the structure creaks and groans a number of times as the larger trucks cross. Even more so as Hondo drives his behemoth drill across. But aside from a few loose debris crumbling off the bridge holds.

Ben rests his hand on the hilt of his new blade already finding the coolness of the steel comforting in his grasp. Without peering over the edge this time, he follows the others across the bridge on foot. Aside from focusing on where he puts his feet, he tries to read some of the visible symbols underneath him. It’s helpful to have something to focus on rather than the long drop down.

His eyes catch a familiar word. _Werda._ Ben forgot about the passage he read last night and the haunting words about being followed and taken by the _werda._ It’s the first reference he’s seen of any sort of threat the Atlanteans faced and feared. Crouching on the far end of the bridge he scans the account of a woman losing her brother while in the tunnels. It speaks like a warning.

“Kenobi.” Ben jumps. “Come on.” One of the sergeants, Faro Argyus, is waving him on as the last of the caravan disappears into the tunnel.

Tearing his eyes off the carvings he scurries off the bridge after the blond sergeant. His hair is somehow still coifed with a swooping flip from a tin of gel he keeps in his pocket. “Sorry.” Heat rises to his cheeks as he matches the man’s longer stride to rejoin the group.

As they continue to descend Faro works his way back up the convo. Ben is happy to stay in the rear for now trying to walk and read as they go. If there is something down here that the locals once feared he’d rather know about it than not. The likelihood of this shadow still existing could be slim but the last time he made the error in thinking something a myth people paid the price with their lives.

Using a flashlight to illuminate the page he catches his breath visible in the low beam. The air begins to cool down but it’s a welcome reprieve. One of the odd advantages of trekking underground is the way time seems to disappear. At first, he feared sleep would elude him with the lack of visible light to mitigate his internal clock but the amount of walking they do is enough to knock him out as soon as he lies down. Beyond that, it’s become sort of nice to be off the clock.

Pain spikes up his foot and he stumbles forward arms flailing but with his hands full his only option is faceplanting. Two large arms catch his rapid descent hauling Ben back to his feet. He shakes out his right foot feeling the lingering pain where his toe hit the rock. “Thanks.” He mumbles to his savior only to find himself staring up into the hard, scarred face of Cody.

“Welcome.” The man eyes him skeptically. “Might wanna watch where you step.” He nods at the journal and for half a second he smirks before continuing on. The subtle quirk on the man’s lips flutters Ben’s stomach. Shoving his flashlight and the journal in his satchel he chastises himself. For losing focus or feeling fluttery he’s not sure which.

As is the trend with the tunnels the path widens out into a long, large cavern with various little offshoots pockmarking the walls. Their path is clear, so they continue forward to the largest of the tunnels. Another shorter pillar catches Ben’s attention. Pausing to examine it for mentions of _werda_ he finds something else. The first mentions of _Ilum_ outside the journal.

Ripping sheets of paper from his personal journal and a stub of graphite he quickly rubs impressions of the text onto the sheets. “You keep stopping you’re going to get left behind.” Cody’s rough tone doesn’t startle him this time as he furiously continues to scribble.

“Well this could be…” Ben is cut off by a grunt and the thud of Cody’s full body weight collapsing on him. “Waah, Cody?” He turns around as the man crumples on him and slides to the ground. Ben tosses his bag on the ground and kneels next to him. Ben frantically looks for the caravan to holler for help when a sharp pain crackles across his skull and his vision goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Te Yaim be Oyay cuyi te clavis at Ilum- the House of Life is the key to Ilum.
> 
> Master of the high ground is afraid of heights.  
> Man, hope they're both okay.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Lava tunnels somewhere beneath the Atlantic Ocean_

His head is throbbing and pounding as his blood pumps in his ears. He tries to move but it’s as if half his body isn’t there. Nothing is making any sense as his muddled brain tries to recover his last memories. Ben tries to open his eyes, but a heavy weight tugs them like the pull of deep sleep. They flutter against the strain but even once he opens them his vision is swimming and blurry as tears sting his eyes. Blinking a few times to clear the haze, his surroundings slowly come into focus. The grey blobs clear into grey rocks. But the first thing he becomes acutely aware of is the fact that he’s upside-down. No wonder his head is pounding.

Ben tries to look up at his feet. Man, he wishes he would’ve done some sort of muscle training. It takes a fair amount of strain, but he can see his feet are strapped to the ceiling. His hand flies up to his belt, but the metal hilt of his new blade is gone. _Fantastic._ Ben lets his arms flop back down to hang over his head. He glances around frantically for a solution pausing when he realizes he’s not alone.

Less than a foot away dangling in a similar position but still limp is Cody. Relief and guilt surge through Ben at the same time as the memories start to come back. The pillar, Cody falling on him, getting hit in the head. Given his skill set and prowess Cody could probably get them out of this quickly. Unfortunately, he’s not conscious.

Casting furtive glances around the space he realizes whoever took them isn’t home. “Cody,” Ben hisses. Nothing. “Cody,” he dares a bit louder. The man is still lost to the world. He can’t see any blood on him, but at such an odd angle it’s really difficult to be certain of anything.

The rushing blood in his head is not helping him think straight and only serves as a reminder he needs to rectify this situation before his body gives out on him. He has no idea how long they’ve been suspended like this, but their bodies can’t handle it for too long.

Whoever or whatever took them was smart enough to remove the obvious weapons. Cody’s holsters are empty as is the hunting knife from its pouch on his hip, but perhaps they didn’t search too thoroughly. Cody’s foot is only inches from his own. He knows the man keeps a smaller knife tucked in a strap on his ankle. If he could just reach it.

Ben clenches his jaw as he tries to fight gravity. Despite the higher level of physical activity he’s been doing since joining the expedition, it’s a struggle to even reach his knees. But he got them into this mess, so he has to try and get them out.

Sweat drips off his forehead as he clenches his abs and stretches his fingers as far as they’ll go. Ben isn’t sure how long he’s been at this, but he knows the more he exerts himself the faster his body will succumb to the blood pooling in his head. With a few unseemly grunts of effort, he can reach his own feet but tugging on the straps proves fruitless.

Flopping back down he gulps against his bone-dry throat. His saliva grates like sand going down and his hands are starting to shake but he’s so close. Ben takes a low deep breath then in one fluid move curls at the waist and grabs onto Cody’s leg. He could whoop and cry all at once as his fingers wrap around the hilt of the small knife. But he knows if he flops back now, he’ll never get back up.

Ben’s hands shake as he slices through the straps holding his right foot to the ceiling then quickly cuts the left and lets gravity drag him to the floor. He thumps on the hard stone ground on his back and ignores the pain going up his spine and tailbone simply relishing the feeling of being back on solid ground.

Lying spread eagle for a moment he heaves in air as his vision blacks in and out then slowly clears. He forces himself to stand up, wobbling and shaky as he is and cuts Cody down trying to help ease him down as much as he can. But with his arms quivering the much bulkier man still lands on the ground with a hard thump. At least he keeps his head from slamming down.

Ben slaps Cody lightly in the face a few times until he stirs with a groan. Cody mumbles a name, but he can barely make out more than a rolling ‘r’ sound. Probably his brother’s name. “Cody come on.” Ben urges the man with a shake on his shoulders. They’re lucky their captor hasn’t shown back up yet but he doubts they’ll be gone for long.

As if the world is reading his mind a low growl rumbles down the cave and his stomach near about drops out of him. “We need to go.” He urges louder trying to quell his rising panic. Cody glances around still clearly confused as to what’s going on. His glassy eyes focus on the straps above their heads and then on Ben.

“Where are we?” Cody’s voice is rough. He sits up rubbing at his head and cracks his neck.

Ben helps him stand and gives him back the small knife. “I’m not sure.” He finally takes a good look around the space. Now that he’s not upside-down the world makes more sense.

It’s a small cave like the ones they’ve been traveling through. Naturally carved out by lava but it’s lined with a few glowing fire-lit torches that cast the space in yellow light. There’s no other sign of anything living down here but something took them. For what reason he’s not sure and Ben does not want to stick around long enough to find out.

Cody points up at the straps dangling from the ceiling. “Did you…” Ben nods. His eyebrows hit his forehead stretching the long scar along the side of his face out and he lets out a low whistle. “Impressive.” The corners of Cody’s mouth twitch up in a smile. Heat rushes to Ben’s head and it’s not because he’s upside-down this time.

“Oh, it was nothing.” He mumbles unable to meet the warm chocolate brown of Cody’s eyes. Another, much louder roar echoes down towards them draining all the heat from his head. “We need to leave.” Cody gives him a curt nod in agreement.

Unfortunately, the only way out seems to be in the same direction the roar is coming from. Ben and Cody fan out to search the cave for another exit or their things or anything useful really. But a quick circle proves fruitless as they both come full circle back to the tunnel opening. Ben clenches his fists in an effort to stop the shaking in his hands.

Keeping the small knife out, Cody takes the lead into the dark tunnel holding one of the torches out for light. Ben runs his hand along the wall hoping to catch a space or a door. Anything that might lead them away from the noises rather than towards them.

The tunnel curves before dumping them out into a larger cavern. Their torchlight illuminates them in a small dome of yellow light and reflects off puddles dotting the cavern. A steady plink of dripping water fills the silence as the pair searches for another way out. How far from the expedition crew have they come? They must have noticed their absences and Ben hopes they’re searching for them. He can’t imagine Rex would let his brother just disappear without trying to find him. He hopes his own usefulness is enough reason for them to come looking for him.

Cody leads them closer to the cave walls so they can try to find another tunnel out. There’s a good chance with a system like these there could be multiple and picking the right one will be like choosing a path in a maze with no sky to tell them what direction they’re traveling.

An echoey thud of heavy footfalls is the only warning Ben has before something hits him square in the back and he’s sent sprawling to the ground. His chin bumps on the damp stone floor rattling his teeth but he’s barely paying attention to the sting as he rolls over to get a glimpse of his attacker.

In the subtle glow of the torchlight, he can make out the rough, granite form. It’s as if it came out of the tunnel walls itself and he shudders remembering the Leviathan seeming to crawl out of the seafloor. The humanoid frame has intricate, glowing, red lines snaking across its chest and up around its arms like exposed veins of crimson blood.

He has little time to contemplate the origins of the stone monster as it brings down its foot towards his chest and Ben rolls to the side as it dents and cracks the floor on impact. The thing looks like a stone statue come to life. _Could this be another guardian of sorts?_ Cody shouts at the stone guardian swinging the torch at it but the fire does nothing to disturb it. Fire can’t ignite rock, so it oddly makes sense.

Cody ducks under a swing of a stone fist and kicks it hard in the chest, but the attack does little aside from making the thing wobble. In a lightning fast fluid motion, it slams a fist into Cody’s stomach and drives another down on his back sending the man sprawling on his stomach with a grunt in pain. The torch rolls aside casting long shadows along the walls.

Ben lunges at the monster wrapping his arms around its neck with little more thought than getting it away from his companion but it just shakes violently grabbing him like a rag doll and tossing him aside. He skids across the damp, soft ground, and slams into the wall heaving as air is knocked from his lungs.

Cody manages to right himself and sweeps at the creature’s leg, but it looks like he’s hitting a stone pillar as his foot bounces off and he recoils in pain. Ben struggles to push himself up as the thing charges Cody again. He rolls to the side avoiding a blow that impales the ground with a loud crack. What that could do to a person’s ribs is a terrifying thought.

Swaying on his feet, Ben staggers into the wall trying to come up with a solution. If only he had a stick of dynamite or one of Hardcase’s homemade explosives. They could just blow the thing up. It roars again like a warning call of a mother bear before she attacks, and he nearly clasps his hands over his ears as the sound reverberates off the walls. Cody staggers back towards the tunnel they just came out of still clutching his knife in hand but he’s limping and holding his side as he continues to back away from the attacks.

Ben grabs the torch and scans the cavern quickly for a way out. He spots another opening just off to the right and catches Cody see the same thing. He knows what the man is going to say before he does by the purely determined set of his brow alone. “Go,” Cody shouts as he jumps back away from another swing of the things arm. “Ben go!” He’s backing up the tunnel, leading the thing away. The self-sacrificing… he’s not going to abandon the man. Ben just needs to think.

He rushes the stone figure from behind swinging the torch like a bat picturing its head as the ball on a stand. Ben puts enough force behind the swing to crack its skull leaving a chunk missing in the back of its cylindrical head. It’s hollow. Red light pours out of the wound casting the entire cavern in a crimson glow. Nestled in the center and emanating the disturbing colored light is a crystal. Like the one’s pictured in his journals but clearly without the blue glow so often depicted.

It spins around before Ben can bring the torch down again thrusting a fist into his gut and Ben goes sprawling on his backside. With him knocked down it turns its attention back to Cody who manages to evade its blows. While the stone monster has sheer power and strength it’s not very mobile making it slow to move. Cody jumps back and to the side able to stay out of its grasp but can’t get in a hit of his own. Not that it would do much good.

Ben shoves himself to his feet and grabs the torch. The crystal is the key it has to be. In all his readings it’s referenced as a source of power. He thought it might have been some metaphorical sense of power somehow connected to their beliefs on life, but it seems to be an actual power source. He doesn’t have the time to contemplate the intricacies of it all as it finally hits Cody in the side knocking him to the ground. His knife is dislodged from his hand and skids across the floor towards Ben.

The statue hoists Cody off the ground holding him by his neck as the man’s feet flail and try in vain to kick it or pry the steel grip off his neck. Ben drops the torch and scoops the knife off the ground keeping his steps as quiet as possible. _You can do this._ Without letting himself think too much he rushes up behind it. It releases its hold on Cody but before it can grab Ben, he drives the knife blade into the exposed crystal shattering it into pieces.

All at once, the red glow disappears and as if the veins were holding it together it crumbles into a heaping pile of rocks. Cody wheezes bent over gasping for air and rubbing his throat but manages to croak out “woah.” Ben slumps to the ground feeling all the bruises and cuts on his body and the knife wobbles as his hands violently shake. The rush of adrenaline coursing through him is making his head light and his stomach roll and he feels like throwing up, passing out, or jumping around in joy. Instead, he just sits with his head between his knees trying to slow down his breathing.

Cody slumps down next to him laying a hand on his shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze. “Now that’s two I owe you.” He’s grinning and laughter bubbles up in Ben, but it comes out in a slightly hysterical chuckle that quickly turns into a cough. Cody slaps him on the back a few times until he can breathe normally again before helping him to his feet. “Come on, we still gotta get out of here.”

Ben pauses by the remains of the guardian while Cody goes to get the torch. He kicks a few pieces away and finds the shards of the crystal he stabbed. All the color is gone leaving foggy glass-like remains, but he scoops them up and tucks them into his pocket. They don’t look like much now but it’s the first physical proof he’s been able to collect of the Atlantean way of life.

There are four other tunnels leading out of the cavern not including the one they just came down. Cody picks out the largest of them and they set off at a much slower pace both limping and wincing in pain as they walk. He tells Ben to hang onto the knife which he clutches so tight in his fist he isn’t sure he can uncurl his fingers again. Every drip of water onto the stone floor or the louder thud of their footsteps makes him jump.

For what feels like an hour, though he lost most of his concept of time a while ago, they trudge in relative silence. “Hold up.” Cody holds out his arm for him to stop and Ben freezes. “Something’s coming.” If something else jumps out to attack them he’s fairly certain he’ll just roll over and let it crush him. Straining his ears to listen he can make out the sound of splashing feet and hurried footsteps. But where the stone guardians had been heavy these treads sound softer. More like their own.

Ben sags into the wall but Cody grabs his arm clearly with other ideas. With renewed energy Ben does not feel himself, Cody drags him along the tunnel towards the footsteps and then they hear a voice, a human voice, call out “I see light up ahead.” Seconds later bright white light pours down the tunnel towards them.

“Cody?” The voice shouts. “Cody!” Momentarily blinded he can’t see anything but white spots, but he recognizes Rex’s voice and then sees the man himself as he collides into Cody in a hard hug thumping his brother on the back.

Rex grabs Cody behind the neck and pulls their foreheads together muttering low about how he scared him half to death. Ben blinks away the spots and recognizes Kix as the six-foot doctor bears down on him “Are you guys alright? What happened?” He shines his light on Ben who raises an arm in an attempt to stave off the blinding light.

“We got grabbed by…well,” Cody rubs at his neck looking at Ben. “I’m not sure what.”

“I believe it was some kind of guardian.” Ben’s free hand grazes the remnants of the crystal in his pocket.

“Whatever it was, it’s destroyed now.” Cody hooks his arm over his brother’s shoulder and sags into him. “I owe Ben here my life.” He jerks his head at him and suddenly both flashlights are back on him like stark white spotlights.

Ben shields his eyes hoping they can’t see the bright red flush he feels in his head and shrugs. “Oh, well, I was just doing what anyone would do.”

Rex clasps a not so gentle hand on his shoulder forcing him to meet his eyes. “Thank you.” He retracts his hand helps Cody alleviate the weight on his injured foot. “Don’t know what I’d do if this idiot got himself hurt and I wasn’t there, so thanks for having his back.”

Kix helps Ben and the four of them make their way back out the tunnel. It turns out they’ve been gone for hours. All their stuff was still right where they’d been grabbed, Ben’s bag and journal, Cody’s weapons were lying there too. They’d been searching the tunnels for any sign but couldn’t find anything until they literally ran into them.

They pop out not too far from the exact pillar Ben stopped to look at in the main passage. Where all their stuff had been dropped. Back in a spacious cavern, even if they are still who knows how many feet underground, he feels like he can breathe again. The expedition team has set up camp encircling the tents with the vehicles and the space is lit up by fires and gas lanterns. He never thought he’d be so glad to see light. After all, this is said and done he may never turn lights off in his home again.

They’re instantly overrun as people rush over to check up on them. Cody is quick to regale them on Ben’s heroics and after some initial looks of shock, he gets clasps on the shoulders, pats on the back, two playful- and painful- punches from Trace. Ben doesn’t even mind when Hondo comes in for a full hug saying he knew Ben had it in him all along, whatever that means. “Alright, alright, give ‘em some room.” Kix waves the group off and leads them over to sit by a fire.

The doctor quickly checks them over for broken bones and fractures. He wraps Cody’s ankle and bandages a few of their deeper cuts then orders them both to rest as he wanders off to find them some food. Ben stays by the fire and tugs the blanket Kix gave him tighter around his shoulders and stares into the flickering flames. Finally able to relax, his mind wonders over everything. The stone guardian, the crystal, how these things are still functioning, how are they even functioning?

“Glad to see you’re back in one piece.” The deep smooth voice of General Dooku makes Ben jump in his seat. The man towers over him with the firelight casting dramatic shadows up the man’s face. Dooku holds up his satchel and lays at Ben’s feet as he sits down beside him. “It sounds like you’ve been through quite the ordeal. Tell me about this guardian that attacked you?”

“Well it was,” Ben frowns. “large, made of stone, I think. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“Made of stone?” Dooku hums. “You mean to say it was some kind of machine?”

“Yes, I guess.” Ben scrubs at his eyes wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. The adrenaline is all but gone leaving him sore, stiff, and mentally drained.

“When you destroyed it, did you get an idea of how it was powered?” Dooku is staring at him intently.

“Well I,” Ben’s fingers trace over the crystal pieces still in his pocket. Maybe it’s just a trick of the firelight but there’s a glimmer of something, a hunger maybe, in the General’s eyes he finds unsettling. “I’m not sure really, no.” Ben couldn’t say entirely why he lies. Maybe he just wants to understand it fully himself first before he makes any speculations.

“I found some stew,” Kix strides back over holding two metal bowls. “Oh General, am I interrupting?” The medic freezes raising a brow towards his hairline.

“Just checking in on our resident expert is all,” Dooku replies getting up. He levels a hard look at Ben before he goes as if he knows there’s more. A shiver runs down his spine as he watches the General strides away, so he tugs the blanket in tight and accepts the bowl of stew. The warmth seeps out and he slurps it down ignoring how it burns his mouth. Kix settles down next to him eating his own portion and soon it seems the whole group has gathered around for dinner.

Cody regales them all in full detail about what happened, and Ben fills in waking up tied upside-down and getting them down. He looks around at the small group of smiling and laughing faces and realizes he’s grinning along with them. Perhaps everything will start to work itself out. Once they reach Atlantis, he’ll get his answers. Ben can keep his promise after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little monster fight for your Halloween!


End file.
